[AN: I am terribly sorry that it has taken me so long to update. Time got away from me, and then I had writer's block and for stretches of time I didn't want to write. Then school started up and we'll, I'm sure you know how that goes. So, here is Lucy's third year (finally!).]

Third year started off same as last: the Sorting followed by the introduction of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I knew anybody would be better than Lockhart, but I would be lying if I said his shabby appearance didn't make me second guess that.

Any doubts that I had, however, were forgotten the first day of class. He was absolutely brilliant. Professor Lupin became my favorite teacher very quickly. So when he said that we would be having a practical lesson, I could barely contain my excitement.

However, when he said it was a boggart, my stomach dropped.

I had never thought about what my deepest fear was. And now I had to figure it out and quickly. What am I afraid of? Or is it a who? I had no clue.

I mean, I don't like spiders, but I don't find them terrifying. My parents- specifically my father- are intimidating and scary...

All too soon, it was my turn. My stomach was a nervous knot, but I readied myself.

"Ready?" Asked Professor Lupin. I nodded. He opened the door and out stepped...me.

But it wasn't me, not really. It had my eyes, my face, but white hair, not dark brown. And the robes were different. They were Slytherin robes. It stared at me and then Emma, who stood behind me. There was a barely noticeable tattoo on its left wrist...

"RIDICULUS!" I shouted. Nothing happened. I tried again. And again. Then Emma stepped in front of me. The boggart turned into a stern woman in black. All you could she was her face.

"Ridiculus!" Emma said. The woman's headpiece disappeared and revealed that she was bald. Everyone laughed but me. After, Emma pulled me aside. "What was that? I've never seen you do so poorly." She paused, then added softly, "Why was it you? A Slytherin you?" I shifted uncomfortably.

"Because that version of me is who I'm supposed to be. Who I should be, according to my parents." It was obvious she didn't understand. "It's a lot to explain. I'll tell you tonight." She nodded and I found myself hoping that she will forget.

Later, after supper, she did remember. And I told her. I told her about the drawing my father had burned, what little I knew about my aunt, and then about Sirius Black.

"He's a cousin of my mother's. He was a Gryffindor and a friend of the Potters before they died. Most people believe he betrayed them. But I don't know 'cause my parents hate him. I think it has something to do with 'tarnishing the family name' or something."

"I don't understand. What does this have to do with you?"

"Well, he was friends with Lily Potter and she was Muggleborn and that is why my parents hate him but then if the rumors about him are true, he joined the Deatheaters and killed them. I-I'm just scared that I'll do the same."

"You won't, I'm sure of it. I know you better then practically anybody else, and I know that you are a genuinely kind person. You wouldn't be a Deatheater." She hugged me. "Besides, he's dead. All that stuff is history."

I didn't have the guts to tell her that that's not true. Not in my family.

Hogsmede visits were always enjoyable. The first time we went, I dragged Emma to Honeyduke's. She isn't big on sweets- especially wizard sweets (she was tricked into trying an acid pop first year). But, I took her with anyway. I bought some chocolates, fizzing whizbies, and sugar quills. Then I gave one of each to her, and made her promise to try them.

After, she wanted to go to Zonko's. She said it was to know what the Weasly twins might use, but I knew it was because she was really curious about how wizard pranks work. She bought a fake wand for her cousin before we left for Three Broomsticks.

Emma went to find a table while I bought butterbeer. I set the mugs down, grinning.

"I can't wait for you to try this."

"Okay, okay. You can shut up about it now," she said and took a sip. "It's a bit sweet." I laughed.

"At first, yeah. You'll get used to it."

When we had finished, we wandered around Hogsmeade. We ran into some fellow third years, Antony (Hufflepuff) and Ryan (a fellow Ravenclaw). We continued walking with them and it began a habit in our following Hogsmeade visits for most of third year.

Around Halloween things got interesting. To begin with, there was a giant 'sleepover', as Emma called it, in the Great Hall. That night and afterwards, rumors were flying that Sirius Black had been in the castle and tried to get into the Gryffindor common room. And, again, many of the rumors tied back to Harry Potter.

As a result, I was rather unsurprised when I got a letter from my parents requesting that I come home for the holidays. I was, however, hurt that this was what they sent me. Draco was always getting something and all I get is a thinly veiled order home.

Usually the lack of mail from my parents suited me fine. I felt like it made it easier for every one to pretend that I wasn't related to Draco. I had even found myself calling him 'Malfoy' whenever he did something particularly stuck up. I had distanced myself from my family, and as far as I was concerned, that was a good thing.

However, the conversation at supper when I got home proved me wrong.

"Draco says that he sees very little of you," said our father.

"No, he wouldn't. We, uh, don't hang out with the same people."

"Yeah, I wouldn't be caught dead with a mud blood or a Hufflepuff," Draco muttered, but loud enough that we all heard him. I wanted nothing more than to punch his traitorous mouth. And I think I did, because we both ended up of the floor. His lip was bleeding and my hand hurt.

"You take that back," I said, my voice calm and threatening. "You take that back or I swear I will-" I stopped as a peculiar sensation flooded my body.

Help him up, said a little voice.

'No, punch him. I want to punch him,' I thought.

Help him up.

'Why?'

Just help him up. Apologize. You didn't mean to hurt him.

'But I did. I did mean to hurt him.' I stood up and stared down at him. Part of me wanted to obey the little voice. The rest was wondering where it came from. I looked up at my parents; maybe they heard it too.

That's when I saw my father's wand. I had only ever seen it a few times before. He rarely drew it. But now it was pointed at me.

I saw his focus falter when he realized I wouldn't listen to the little voice. His voice, I realized. I looked at my mother for an explanation, but she stared at my father with a mix of horror and anger and something else I couldn't identify. My father slowly lowered his wand. The feeling drained away and I ran to my room, shuting the door behind me. I slumped to the floor, wondering what had just happened, unable to comprehend the significance of my actions.