A/N: Thank you for the reviews! And thank you to my beta CC :) Also, quick note for any passing royals :P - congratulations HRH Prince William and Catherine Middleton. May they have many long and happy years together.

Right, I also wanted to answer an anon review I got, so the rest of you skip down :) June: Please don't give up on the story. This chapter IS depressing and pretty full of self-hatred, but it is the last one in this vein. It'll pick up and get back on form after that, so I hope you stick with it.

Chapter Fourteen

Helena was alone in the dormitory, as per normal now, idly leafing through one of her Charms textbooks without much hope of increasing what she already knew. NEWTs were still almost two months away, but without much else to do, she'd started revising already. She had a new hobby too—learning how to cook. Courtesy of the house elves in the kitchens, she'd been going downstairs and having culinary tuition from them. Initially, it had started because she'd not wanted to eat with the other Gryffindors. Lily, in particular, was having trouble with the idea that after only forming a real friendship in seventh year, Helena wanted to abandon it already. The only way to make sure the message sank in seemed to be to avoid her completely whenever she could. She that was what she did; unfortunately that meant possibly missing out completely on meals.

Hunger had driven her to the kitchens. The house elves did not ask why she didn't eat with the other students, and nor did they point out that she should either, not seeing that it was their place to argue with a human. They didn't really chat all that much at all either, since they were always totally and completely busy. But somehow they managed to make sure that Helena had everything she wanted, whether that was bouillabaisse or steak and chips.

One night after finishing a piece of wonderful key lime pie, Helena had sighed wistfully and thanked the house elves. "I have no idea how I'll cope without you when I leave Hogwarts. That was delicious."

Taking the plate from her, one of them bowed. "Thank you, miss."

As he walked away, she realised what she'd just said, and the significance of it. How would she cope? She knew a few housekeeping spells that she'd picked up, but cooking…? One could conjure plates, tablecloths, almost any kind of furniture or equipment, but food was impossible to simply create out of thin air. It could be summoned, but even if she summoned lamb chops, she couldn't eat raw meat. She needed to know how to cook even if she could get by with knowing nothing else. Getting up, she moved over to the house elf, tapping him on the shoulder.

"Sorry to interrupt your work—what's your name?"

"Addy, miss."

"Addy, I wonder if you could help me with something."

"Of course, miss, anything!"

"I need to learn how to cook."

His ears fell a little bit. "To cook, miss? But we give you all you want to eat. Is we failing to serve you well, miss?"

"No, no, not at all. In all my seven years here I've loved every single meal that's crossed my lips."

He bowed again. "Addy is pleased to hear it, miss."

"No, I need to learn to cook because I'll be leaving Hogwarts in June, and living by myself. I have no idea how to cook. I'd like you—or one of the other elves—to teach me how. Do you think you could?"

"Of course, miss! Addy would be delighted! When would you like to start the learning process?"

"As soon as possible, if I can. In the evenings, obviously, because I have classes during the day."

"Very well, miss."

Addy had proven to be a rather demanding taskmaster. He was never anything but completely polite and deferential to her, but he was not shy in telling her when she was doing it wrong either. Apparently even magical cuisine looked to the French for inspiration, so she was being taught classical French dishes and sauces. She was now reasonably confident that if ever asked to produce a silky-smooth hollandaise, it would not be beyond her. So far, the only thing that she still couldn't do was poach the perfect egg. Which was a problem, because she had to have something to serve with her silky-smooth hollandaise, and according to Addy, there was nothing better than a poached egg.

So far she'd cooked her way through poultry, fish, eggs (almost) and sauces. There were still many elements to go before she could call herself a cook. It had occurred to her more than once that perhaps she should have been more specific when she'd asked Addy to teach her how to cook, since she meant feed herself, and he'd apparently meant feed the Queen. Well, she couldn't go back on it now. If nothing else, it was filling her evenings and distracting her quite successfully from the fact that no amount of house elves were a replacement for her friends. Between cooking, attending lessons and revising for her exams, Helena was amazed that she managed to find time to sleep, much less miss human companionship.

NEWTs were four weeks away when she received another note from the headmaster, requesting her presence in his office again. She stared at it for almost the entire night before the meeting was due, unable to help the ridiculous hope streaming through her. Maybe he was going to tell her that he'd made a mistake, that some other poor sod was Voldemort's daughter, not her. Maybe she could go back to her friends and beg their forgiveness, explain the whole thing and then everything would be okay. She knew that it was silly, that it was setting herself up for a fall and that it would just hurt all the more when it turned out she really was who he'd told her she was. She was brushing her hair the next morning when a terrible thought struck her: what if it was more bad news? What if she was not only his daughter, but she was somehow more susceptible to mind-control of some kind? What if she was going to end up a Death Eater because she had no choice in the matter? What if, somehow, she was going to end up as a dark witch herself, worse than Voldemort? Had Dumbledore heard a prophecy?

By the time seven p.m. that evening rolled around, Helena was frantic. She'd slept very badly the night before, so her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. Her hair had stayed dishevelled no matter what she'd done to it, and though she'd never bitten her nails before, now they were down to the quick, and sore. She knew she looked terrible, but there was no one to look nice for anymore. She didn't even care enough to look nice for her own self-respect. That was for people who deserved it.

When she arrived at Dumbledore's office, it was with a very gloomy air. She spoke before he did. "Don't tell me, Professor, my mother's actually Morgana herself," she joked wearily.

Dumbledore did not smile. "Am I right in thinking that you do not intend to take up the proffered post as a junior healer at St Mungo's, come July?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Do you know what you will do?"

Leave. Scotland, Britain, Europe. "I...hadn't thought that far, sir. Why?"

"Because I may have a task for you. Allow me to explain. Fifteen years ago, when it became clear that Lord Voldemort was after power and would do anything to get it, I created a secret society, dedicated to fighting the forces of evil in general, and Voldemort in particular."

"Sort of the anti-Death Eaters?"

"Precisely. We are known as the Order of the Phoenix."

He must have seen the question on her face: why are you telling me this?

"I want you to join us."

Helena blinked. "You what?"

"I wish you to become an active agent of the Order."

"But...why me? He's my-"

"Yes, which is exactly why."

He paused, and Helena found a horrible thought entering her mind. "Professor, you don't want me to go in and spy do you? I really don't think I could-"

"No, no, calm yourself, Helena, that wasn't what I had in mind at all."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh good. Then what do you want me to do?"

"Before your birth, before he returned to England, Voldemort spent much of his time on the continent, in eastern Europe to be exact. Albania. No one apart from a select few of his followers knows what he did there, or what new magics he may have researched. It's not far from Istanbul, which before the Turkish conquest in 1453 was called Constantinople. You might remember from your History of Magic lessons that Constantinople contained the greatest magical library to ever exist anywhere in the world—as the Great Library of Alexandria was for muggle knowledge."

She nodded. "I remember."

"It's my belief that Voldemort found some remnant of this library—while much of it was destroyed by the Turks during the fifteenth century, at least some of it must remain. If you accept, I want you to go to Istanbul, with me, to rediscover his find. I know where it is, I merely require assistance to get inside."

Helena squinted. "Why? I mean, why me? I'll happily join the Order of the Phoenix, Professor, if you really think I won't be a hazard to you—but there are more experienced witches and wizards. I can't imagine Professor McGonagall isn't part of the Order…"

"You are correct there," he smiled, "but it must be you."

Helena thought hard. The only thing unique about her was her parentage. "Is there some kind of blood magic, protecting it? Has Voldemort designed it so that only he will be able to open it?"

"Or someone of his blood, yes."

She nodded, feeling deflated. She meant what she'd said; she would happily spend the rest of her life fighting against Voldemort, but for just one second she'd thought that she was going to be included in something, a member of something just like all the other members. Not at all. She was being included…because she was excluded. "Do you think it will make a difference?" she asked. "Knowing what he did back then?"

"I do."

"Then of course, Professor. I'll do everything I can."

As always with Dumbledore, she got slightly more than she bargained for: the headmaster put his hands together and smiled genially at her. "Excellent. Then if it's alright with you, we'll go on Saturday afternoon. The majority of the school will be down at the Quidditch pitch watching the semi-final so I doubt we will be missed."

She shrugged. "I haven't been going to matches anyway."

He looked over the top of his glasses at her. "No, I know. Something else we need to talk about, Helena, but for the moment it will have to wait."

He could talk about it all he liked; she was done talking, and done thinking about it. She was what she was, and she had to accept that and move on, shape her own destiny without damaging anyone else's. That meant sacrificing the people she loved to keep them safe. It was what she'd told James, and it was what she'd tell Dumbledore too.

"How are we getting to Turkey?" she asked, changing the subject back to more comfortable ground.

"A portkey. Unauthorised, as Voldemort has followers and informants in the Ministry and it's too dangerous to go through legal channels."

He got up, and moved over to a richly decorated screen two one side, pushing it back. Helena gasped, hands flying to her mouth. Behind it was a bird stand, and perched on it, the most beautiful bird she'd ever seen. Huge, red and gold plumaged, intelligent black eyes. "A phoenix… He's beautiful, Professor. Is this where the name comes from? The Order of the Phoenix?"

"Yes, the inspiration is drawn from Fawkes."

Fawes inclined his head to Dumbledore, and then to Helena. Unconsciously, she rose and moved toward the bird, fingers stretched out to pet him. His feathers were as soft as down. As she stroked down to touch his beak, he tilted his head again and there was moisture on her finger; one pearly, shimmering tear clinging to her fingertip. She glanced up to Dumbledore, who moved his wand forward and touched the tear. It crystallised with a cracking kind of sound, liquid made solid. She tipped the tiny thing onto her palm.

"Made liquid again it has healing powers, but solid it is the badge that all members of the Order wear. How you wish to do so is up to you. The only thing I would ask is that you wear it discreetly. There are many enemies of the Order, it would not do to mark yourself as a target."

"Like my blood won't do that for me," she muttered, still fingering the teardrop. "Forgive me, Professor, but what's this for? I mean, I doubt pretty jewellery is how you tell members of the Order you need them."

"Quite right. Because all members are connected through these tears—since they all come from Fawkes—they serve as methods of communication, or summons."

"Ah. A nice Dark Mark."

"Indeed."

She nodded and curled her fist, keeping the teardrop cradled. "Thank you, sir."

When she got back up to her dormitory, she took it out and looked at it again, wondering where she was going to wear it. Somewhere discreet… Hitting on an idea, she conjured a thin gold chain, and threaded the tear-pendant onto it, then wrapped it around her ankle. She fastened it with magic too, choosing not to bother with a clasp that could break. The teardrop felt warm against her skin. As she fingered it, she reflected that Dumbledore didn't have to tell her anything about the Order, much less induct her into it. She would have agreed to go to Istanbul with him anyway, whatever it was. But he had—the damn compassion again. Hoping to ease her loneliness even if, past this, she couldn't be of any real use. She appreciated it.

Turkey was…hot. It was Helena's first impression. In May Britain was hardly cold, but the heat of the country she now stood in was like stepping into a warm bath. She'd managed to unsuccessfully land (read: been thrown off the portkey and onto her arse) once the portkey had deposited them here; she wasn't sure how they were getting back. In theory apparition to the village could work, except she wasn't confident of her ability to apparate that far. They appeared to be in the middle of nowhere, but as her eyes adjusted to the gloom she realised that there were structures around them, of a sort. Ruins. To her left was clearly a wall, several feet wide and still at least ten feet high. Just ahead was a a shallow depression, square and filled with water. Around its edges were shards of brightly coloured tile peeking through to shine in the moonlight.

"Is this the old city?" she asked.

"Some of it. The old city is the new city really; this is one of the few areas that has not been touched or rebuilt over."

"Why not? Muggle-repelling charms?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said, apparently approving of her guess. "Yes, there are several areas of the city that are covered in the same charms. Unfortunately charms cannot stop the spread of fire, and that is exactly what happened to the library."

"I see."

The headmaster moved forward, picking his way through the ruins, and Helena followed, lighting the end of her wand so she could better see where she was going. They walked for four or five minutes before he halted before a circle of seven limestone columns, each intricately carved with fantastical creatures Helena only recognised from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. The one Dumbledore had stopped in front of depicted a twining serpent, fangs bared and hissing at the world.

"Nothing like sticking to cliché, is there?" she muttered. "What do I have to do?"

He pulled a short silver dagger out of his robes and handed it to her. "The snake must be fed."

Wincing a little, she opened a cut at the top of her index finger and swiped it across the open mouth of the serpent. Please let nothing happen, please let nothing happen… The prayer that she'd told herself wasn't being recited dried up as the dull stone gained texture, lustre and movement. It took all her courage not to flinch away as it reared up off the column to wrap itself around her forearm. It continued upward until her arm was completely covered in its coils and she could no longer feel her fingers. It moved its head to look her straight in the eye, scarlet-slitted pupils pitiless and assessing. She had no idea what it was looking for, and before she could move or speak it darted forward, striking at her neck. Its fangs stabbed in and then just as quickly out again. Helena reeled, but Dumbledore made no move to either stop the snake or help her. The thing unwound itself from her arm and then moved back to the column, wrapping itself back around that and diving down it to disappear into a hole in the ground.

Helena put a hand to her neck, feeling wetness. "I thought you didn't want me dead," she complained.

"It would be fatal to anyone else," Dumbledore assured her. "You aren't feeling weak are you?"

She shook her head. "Guess that proves it."

Dumbledore took her forearm and pulled her backward a few paces; the hole that the snake had disappeared into was rapidly widening, and when it stopped was four feet in diameter. Helena groaned. "We're going to jump down that, aren't we?"

"Yes. And I think in this case, it might be safer age before beauty."

A brief gleam of silver from the moonlight on his hair, and Dumbledore was gone. Helena sighed. No matter what assurances he'd given her, she was not convinced by this idea. That snake might not have caused any lasting damage, but it hadn't seemed all that convinced either. If there were more booby traps, would they be able to get through them as well?

"Helena?"

Taking a deep breath, she jumped. Half a second after the light from Dumbledore's wand came into view, she realised that a Cushioning Charm would have been a good idea, because this was going to- Her ankle twisted as she landed, so she threw her arms out to catch herself. It still went wrong though; her right wrist bent back with a wrench of pain. She hissed and clutched it to her chest, tears beading in her eyes.

"Let me see."

Gritting her teeth, she stretched out her hand to Dumbledore; he waved his wand briefly over her wrist, dulling the pain. He conjured a white sling and bandaged her arm in it. "That will have to do for the moment. It isn't broken, though Nurse Pomfrey will be a better judge of that than me."

She nodded. "We need to carry on."

The two of them proceeded cautiously. The tail of the snake she'd awoken slithered in and out of sight, leading them on further into the tunnel. She lost count of how far they'd gone, or how long it took them; Dumbledore didn't speak so neither did she. She was just beginning to believe that maybe this tunnel would go on forever when their serpent guide stopped, and a dark grey door appeared. It had no obvious signs of entry.

Helena looked at the headmaster. "More blood?"

The snake was already answering them; it moved back to Helena and reared up. It's forked tongue flickered once, twice, three times over the cut on her index finger, collecting more blood. That done, it turned and vomited on the door, literally throwing itself up. Within moments, there was nothing left of the creature but a moldy pile of dust, and a door that slid smoothly back to one side. Helena eyed the mound with disgust.

"You know for being the most feared Dark Wizard of all time, this magic seems rather…crude."

"This is going back more than twenty years, Helena. And the shedding of blood is always the most obvious form of evil, though you are right, it is not the most refined. I fear Voldemort has given far too much time to refining his evil," Dumbledore replied, moving through the doorway.

There was no more tunnel after it, and the walls shot outwards to reveal a chamber, high-ceilinged with torches lining the walls. Metal chests sat at intervals around the edges, each other with another serpent lock. Helena counted more than a dozen in all.

"This is all that remains of the Great Library of Constantinople," Dumbledore said, sounding incredibly said.

"How will we move them?"

As a seventh year, Helena was not used to feeling out of her depth. She wasn't arrogant enough to think that she knew every spell that had ever been created, but she'd like to think she knew a good half of them. But so far this evening, she'd had no idea how the blood-spells had been created by Voldemort, and when Dumbledore swept his arms in an arc and all the chests disappeared, she had even less idea how he'd done that.

Smiling, Dumbledore turned to her. "Thank you, Helena. Your assistance has been very much appreciated."

She nodded. "I can't say I've enjoyed it. But it's been a nice break from poaching eggs I suppose…"

"Now, I think we can apparate back to Hogsmeade without too much trouble, don't you?"

"It's a bit far," she said doubtfully.

"Ah, very true. Alright then, Portkey it shall be." He bent and picked up a stone from the ground and tapped it. Nothing noticeable happened, but when Helena put three fingers onto it, it was slightly warm.

"Three, two one…"

Helena felt a hooking sensation, and then everything blurred into whiteness. She once again managed to end up in a big heap on the floor of Dumbledore's office. The chests he'd already transported were piled up to one side. Using the desk to help herself up, she brushed off her robes with her good hand and looked at them. "Do you want me to open them now, Professor?"

He looked at her keenly. "Do you want to see what's inside them?"

"I… I don't know. I don't want to look at anything to do with him, Professor, but if it'll be of help to the Order then I suppose there's no other option, is there? I'm the only one that can open them, assuming it's the same locking mechanism."

With a sigh, she levitated the topmost truck down to her and wiped her finger across the lock: the two prongs of a snake's tongue. She bit her lip at the pain as the two points dig deeper into her flesh than Dumbledore's knife had, and colder. It seemed to do the trick though—it didn't turn real, but the tongue withdrew and the truck lid popped open. She'd expected to find books inside, but given the age that Constantinople had been founded in, it shouldn't have been surprising to find neatly stacked scrolls instead. Some had broken wax seals whereas others had been read so many times they were now flat. Helena reached in and picked one up, unfurling it. It was covered in writing…unfortunately writing in a language Helena could not understand.

"I have no idea what that even is."

"Ancient latin, I suspect. Mine is a little rusty, so this will take some time."

"Well, mine's nonexistent."

"In that case, go to the hospital wing and have Nurse Pomfrey look at your wrist before you go to bed."

"Yes sir."

She did so, with Nurse Pomfrey unsatisfied at the explanation that she'd fallen over and hurt her wrist, despite that being the truth, or most of it. However, with Helena unwilling to give any other reason for her injury, the school nurse had to accept that. She tapped her wrist once and Helena was able to move it fully again. But she was still handed the sling back again. "Sprains are tricky. I want you to wear this for the next twenty four hours, just to rest the wrist."

"But it's fine."

"No objections, Miss Malfoy. Wear it."

Helena had acquiesced, though she wished she hadn't when, the day after, Sirius saw her with it on. The library was normally the best place to avoid him, but with the NEWTs looming, even he had given in to the urge to revise. Helena was in the most remote corner she could find, but it didn't stop the universe from pissing on her.

The moment he came around the corner, their eyes met. It was rare that happened now, and each time Helena's heartbeat spiked, and a hot, sick swooping sensation went through her stomach. Her hands ached to reach out to him; she kept them firmly where they were. Sirius looked away, and she was released. He carried on his way, moving a little way down the shelves to pick out a book. On the way back, he stopped.

"What did you do?" he asked brusquely.

She jumped, and then winced, both at his tone and the stab of pain that flashed through her wrist. "I fell down the stairs," she replied coldly.

"Which stairs?"

"Main one. The trick step caught me out."

Sirius folded his arms. "Seventh year in this castle and the trick step caught you out?"

"Yes, not that it's anything to do with you!"

"You're right. Dunno why I'm bothering to care," he sneered, turning his back on her and leaving.

Helena slumped over the translations. Would it ever stop hurting? She kept expecting self-preserving apathy to take over and make it so that she just wouldn't care, but it never arrived. She was sick of wanting to cry all the time, and she was heartsick of hurting people who somehow still cared enough to notice when she was hurt. If she couldn't stop caring, then surely they could?

James had never felt so relaxed in his entire life. Exams were over, the sun was shining, the countryside was flashing past the train windows, and his head was pillowed on his girlfriend's lap. He'd thought leaving Hogwarts would be an incredibly sad thing, and while he would miss the castle—and even some of the teachers, though he would never, ever admit that—it felt good as well. It felt…right. Hogwarts had given him everything it could: knowledge, friends. He looked up at Lily, who smiled warmly at him. Love.

The seventh years had the run of the train, since the rest of the school wouldn't be leaving for another fortnight. They were allowed to leave once they'd finished their NEWTs, so they were all a bit spread out. Pete had talked Moony into teaching him his tricks of chess, and Sirius had gone back to banging his way through every girl in the year, so was somewhere with person unknown, doing just that. James and Lily had a whole compartment to themselves. She was slightly more morose about leaving Hogwarts than he was, but he suspected that had a lot to do with the fact that her home life was so much less enjoyable than his. Apparently her sister Petunia—whom Lily refused to let him meet, though there were plans in the pipeline for him to meet her mum and dad—was in the process of moving out though, so hopefully things would get better for Lily.

"D'you think…? No, never mind," Lily said, shaking her head.

"What?"

"Doesn't matter," she said, smiling down at him and running her fingers through his hair.

"Thought you hated my hair being messy," he commented.

"It's different when I'm the one messing it up," she grinned.

"I'll say."

She rolled her eyes, but smiled despite the faint blush which stained her cheeks. Sex was something that had only recently come into their relationship, and talking about it still made Lily blush and giggle in a way that made him want to kiss the sense out of her. So he did. In fact he was still kissing the sense out of her when they were pulling through London.

"Wow, that went quick." Lily nodded, back to looking pensive.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm just a bit nervous about starting at St Mungo's I think."

"Why? You really know your stuff, you're smart, kind, funny—you're going to be an amazing healer."

"I know, it's just…I'd feel better if I had someone doing it with me."

James nodded, his smile disappearing like a kneazle up a tree. Helena had formally declined the offer of post of Junior Healer earlier that month, and though he hadn't been surprised, Lily had been very disappointed, by both that and by her behaviour over the previous several weeks. When pressed, Helena had just said she was going 'travelling', though alone and without any specific destinations in mind. Lily shared his opinion that something had happened in February, but like him, she had no idea what that could have been.

"You'll make other friends, Lily."

She smiled weakly. "I know. But can I want the old one back too? It seems so wrong that we probably won't even say goodbye."

He nodded, but couldn't think of anything else to say. A few minutes later they slowed and came to a halt at King's Cross. James levitated both their trunks off the train and loaded them onto trolley. They were almost at the gateway when Lily stopped, and lifted her face. James was startled to see she was crying. "What's wrong?"

"I- I just can't, James, I can't leave it like this."

"Like what?"

She gestured to where Helena was pushing her trolley along the platform, eyes focused on nothing but filled with complete misery. Her mouth was down-turned; she glanced at the two of them, and then immediately away again, now looking like she was going to cry.

"Oh." He brushed some hair away from her face. "Lily, I'm not sure what else we can do. We've talked to her, checked out what spells she could be under…"

"I know, but-"

Lily was interrupted by a huge crash. Automatically, James pulled his wand out, seeing almost everyone around him do the same. It was the natural reaction, and with good reason: the crash had been several trunks flying into the wall as they careered off the train. The source: Bellatrix Black, wand out and pointing at Helena. Avery wasn't far behind her, and he also had his wand out, shooting a beam of electric-blue light at Helena. She deflected it, but then found herself facing an assault from Bellatrix. The Slytherin witch was relentless, firing spell after spell without apparent pause. Helena was a match for her though, throwing just as many hexes and jinxes back. James hadn't been sure since February she actually wanted to live, but now she was demonstrating extreme will to.

But while she could handle Bellatrix, she clearly couldn't be expected to take on more than one Death Eater, and she was facing two. The near-misses were getting nearer and nearer with each curse. Next to James, Lily had whipped her wand out and charged into the fray. Sirius and Remus were already coming to Helena's aid. With her allies though, Bellatrix and Avery were joined by some of theirs. Within moments, the platform had disintegrated into an all-out battle. The Death Eaters duelled everyone else who had stayed; most parents had grabbed their children and run as quickly as they could off Platform 9¾, and there was a crush going on at the exit.

James' blood ground to a complete and utter halt when Bellatrix uttered a scream of "Crucio!" and then the screams weren't hers. They were Lily's. Dropping her wand, she fell to the platform in a tight ball, and just yelled in pain, limbs spasming.

Helena got there first, shooting a whirling line of fire at Bellatrix. The Slytherin witch ducked out of the way just in time. The smell of burning hair filled the air. Concentration broken, she lifted the curse on Lily. James rushed to her side—she had tears running down her face, but otherwise seemed unharmed.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded, and he helped her up, noting how badly her hands were shaking. Behind them, Sirius and Helena were both advancing on Bellatrix.

"Incacerous!" Ropes burst from the end of Sirius' wand, but Bellatrix dodged out of the way; the ropes hit Nott instead, pinning him and bearing him to the ground.

"Incendio!"

Helena threw up a shield and counterattacked with a trip jinx which sent Bellatrix sprawling, and she was then attacked by another wizard, and then another, and another: the aurors were here. Within moments, the Death Eaters were fleeing. All except two—the original two. And they were still targeting Helena. Any idiot could see they were outnumbered and badly outgunned, but it didn't stop Bellatrix from yelling the least-likely spell in the world. "Obliviate!"

The spell took Helena in the face, sending her flying backward. Before she hit the wall, Avery stunned her before they both disapparated. Lily sprinted to Helena's prone form, shoving past Sirius. "She's breathing okay," she said rapidly, "and there's no blood, but-"

There she stopped, but James—along with the rest of the gang—knew how that sentence would end. But that was a memory charm. But when she wakes up she'll have no idea who any of us are.

"We need to get her to St Mungo's, as soon as possible," Sirius said, breaking the silence. He moved gently past Lily and picked Helena up, cradling her carefully. No one argued with him.

A/N: Review please!