There were few places Lily knew better than the Come and Go Room- and, as far as she was certain, she was the only person in the world who knew of its existence. Some of her followers had attempted to ask where she liked to disappear to so often, sure, but she'd yet to actually tell any of them. No, it was hers, and she wouldn't let anyone else know about it. She'd even burned the book she first found it mentioned in, just to make sure nobody else could get so much as a hint. And as to the House Elf she'd 'persuaded' to gain information on how to actually enter the chamber, well- nobody would ever find them, and the miserable creature's disappearance should be enough of a warning to ensure the rest of the Hogwarts elves kept tight lips.

She passed the mound of trash and refuse the House Elf was hidden in on her left, hardly sparing it a single thought. She was here with a purpose- Dumbledore might have denied her application to the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, but she'd only accepted the interview for a truer purpose in the first place. Actually getting the job would have only been the icing on a very spectacular cake. The thought that a piece of herself would be hidden right under the headmaster's nose- and without even the slightest hint left for him- filled her with a euphoric ecstasy that only seemed to quicken her steps.

Finally, she found a perfect place for her treasure: a marble bust of Andros the Invincible, the hero of the Third Goblin Rebellion, and the slayer of Tort the Short. The old man's head rested a top a cabinet filled to the brim with worthless junk. She didn't relish the thought that it would rest amongst such unnoteworthy refuse, but, well- that had been the point. There wasn't a soul in the world that would think to look for hers in such a mundane place. From her robes, she drew out the small, silver crown, and placed it a top the bald bust. She gave the fragment of her being a loving caress to say farewell, turned to walk away, and-

Everything hurt, but she could hardly feel any of it over the blazing agony running through her head and scar, and her vision was blurred, with white streaks and spots all through it. She tried to roll to her side, but the slightest movement had her stomach rolling, sending bile to her throat. She reached up to rub at her scar, only to find a cold cover on her face. She felt a hood tumble from her read as she wrenched the cover off.

A mask, she thought, dropping the cold skull to the ground. Why- where- She squinted at her surroundings, but they made no sense. Everything was so bright, and there was so much noise- explosions, shouts, and screams. She tried to rise again, and, this time, her left hand found a wand and clutched it to it tightly.

All a dream, she thought, tracing a finger over pulsing scar. This is all a dream. I'm still in the third task. I just hit my head, is all. Or- or maybe that Skrewt really did skewer me.

"Lily?"

Lily blinked and squinted, trying to make sense of the figure standing in front of her. He looked so familiar. No, that's not right, she thought. He- he left me.

"Sirius?" she said warily, her tongue thick and alien in her mouth. "What am I- where am I?" She felt another pull of pain in her scar and nearly buckled over, letting out a little gasp and clutching harder at her forehead.

"Lily!" Sirius said, and, suddenly, he was next to her, hands on her shoulders, "Lily, you're-"

She screamed, then, or, at least, she thought she did. Everything was a blur, afterwards, of misery and pain that never seemed to end.

Until, suddenly, it did.

The throbbing in her skull was still there, although less dazing, and she was on her knees, leaning on her elbows and relieving her stomach of its contents. She heard no laughter. She heard no screams. But there were people in the room. She could hear them talking, hear them muttering, and feel their eyes on her. She looked up, trying to fight off another wave of nausea.

She was back in the subterranean ballroom, laying in front of Voldemort's dais. This was the first time she'd gotten a good luck at the throne he'd been sat in, all those days ago. It was stark white, its limbs fashioned to appear like writhing arms and legs, the ends of the armrests fashioned liked screaming faces. Voldemort was sitting in it, his legs crossed, looking at her expectantly, his red eyes flickering with malice.

"So, you wake at last," he said. "I was wondering if you would."

Lily spat out the taste of acid from her mouth and looked away from him, squeezing her eyes shut tight and trying to remember.

The crown, she thought. I know the crown- it was- it was-

"It is common courtesy to respond to your betters when you are addressed, Black," Voldemort said, snapping her attention back to him. "Or do you require further correction?"

"You-" Lily coughed and spat again, gagging and retching and coming up with nothing.

"Tell me," Voldemort said. "The potion. That you can no longer keep it down suggests to me that it has finished its job. Does it still pain you? Do you still feel it burning within you?"

The potion, Lily thought. What- right. He'd told her to drink, and so she'd drank- and she'd done so every time he'd brought her the same substance, all without questioning it a single time, and no matter how badly it hurt.

"What does it feel like?" Snape had asked her, the one time they'd been alone.

Like fire, Lily thought. She could still feel it in her veins, flowing throughout her and turning her insides to cinder. There wasn't much she could remember from her days at Malfoy Manor, between the fevers and the nightmares- but the pain, that would stick with her forever. On the worst of the nights, even with Fleur sitting by her and trying to soothe it, all she could do was pray for a death that never seemed to come.

"No," Lily lied, fighting the urge to retch again. If he thought the potions no longer hurt her, maybe- maybe he'd stop making her drink them. The crown, she thought again. Don't think about the pain. Focus on the crown. Where did I-

"You are certain?"

"Yes," Lily said, failing in her battle and gagging again.

The Secret Chamber, she thought, wiping fresh sweat from her forehead. That's where it was. On a- a bust, and- Merlin, Ron sold it, didn't he? It was hard to focus, with her veins still burning.

"Good, good," Voldemort said, sounding pleased. "Your body is almost ready, then. Soon enough, it will be mine."

"Yours?" Lily asked, looking up from her pool of sick. Voldemort laughed, then, and that meant the crowd around them mimicked it. Lily tried to look at them- but the pain in her scar was too much, and her vision wouldn't focus.

"Surely, you did not think my potions and lessons were for your benefit?" Voldemort said. He waved a hand at himself, and then leant back in his seat and crossed his legs. "This body was only ever a temporary reprieve from my formlessness. I always intended on searching for a more permanent solution- it just happened to arrive earlier in you."

"No," Lily said at once as her brain caught up.

Voldemort smiled at her. "You have no say in the matter. Your body is mine- as is the power I knew not."

"The power you-"

"The prophecy, girl, the prophecy!" Voldemort said, laughing again along with his sycophants. "Why, you gave it to me yourself, your first night here- don't you recall?"

Lily didn't, but she knew better than to say so. That would only result in more mockery.

"The potions were meant to increase your potential," Voldemort said, watching her appraisingly. "I will not have a vessel unsuited to my own needs, fantastical power or no- before your modifications, you would have been simply incapable of producing a sufficient quality of spellcasting."

"And the History?" Lily asked mockingly, spitting out more acid from her mouth. "That just for fun, then?" She wiped her lips with her right hand- and didn't feel the slightest sensation in it, even when she balled it into a fist.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Voldemort said, shrugging nonchalantly. "Your body needed rest, as much as I wanted to rush things, and I thought it would be amusing. It was a miracle you survived the first dose in and of itself- only I have successfully done so prior to you. Most don't survive the hour. Am I boring you, Potter?"

"No," Lily said, looking up from her hand and stopping the flexing of her fingers.

"It would be my pleasure to end this brief respite, if you'd like," Voldemort said. "I am more than ready to take this to the next step, if you are."

Lily closed her eyes, not saying anything else, and pressed her forehead to the cool marble floor and trying not to think about her hand.

It doesn't matter, she thought. It doesn't change anything.

"We will need a more thorough test," Voldemort said, ignoring her silence. "I will not reveal myself until I know for sure that my full power is available, and tonight did not go well, I will not lie- do you remember any of it?"

Lily said nothing. She did. She remembered the screams, and the light, and the pain- and, above all, Sirius, next to her, his hands on her shoulders, the relieved look in his eyes as he moved to hug her- to hold her.

And the glints of gold on his wrists, now that she had the time to process it. Watches. Two watches. He'd gotten her message- and he hadn't come.

He left me, Lily thought, feeling sick again. And, I- Merlin- did I kill him? She almost asked, but she knew Voldemort would answer truthfully- and she didn't think she could take that right now.

"It wasn't entirely without purpose," Voldemort said. "It was a good experiment, at the least- you are not yet quite as powerful as I am, but it will suffice for the moment. You are still young, and your power will only increase in my hands. I can hold your body almost indefinitely, now. I must only find a way to push past the pain."

She swallowed down more bile. One problem at a time. Fleur promised she'd get them out- Sirius had failed her, but she had to trust Fleur wouldn't. She could wait just a bit longer. She'd be back in the room tonight, and she'd see what the woman came up with- Voldemort never used her without a period to rest.

And, if Fleur didn't have anything, Lily would find a way to kill herself. Better that than to let Voldemort have her.

"Still," Voldemort continued. "A good start. A very good start. I have yet to push your abilities to their limits. It is time for a true test. Yes, while the Ministry is focused on our good friends in the Order- you and I will be having a little visit to Azkaban, I think. No more resting, Black- I will find a way to hold you."

"No," Lily said, lifting her head to glare at the Dark Lord as he stood.

"You have no choice in the matter," Voldemort said, walking down the few steps in bare feet. "We have been over this. The body you reside in belongs to me, not you."

Lily almost protested further, but then a pair of strong arms were grabbing hers and hauling her to her knees.

"Up," Quirrell said from her left.

Lily barely had the time to spit at him before there was more pain, and she was trapped back in the nightmares.

It's all your fault.

Hermione lost her focus, and her opponent sent her tumbling down to the ring floor. She mashed the button harder when the referee began his countdown, grumbling all the while. It was so hard to concentrate with all the yelling going on. The second time she was knocked down, she gave it up entirely and turned her console off. The screaming match was only getting louder, and she was starting to get a headache. She stretched her back against the bedframe she was resting against and then got up off the ground. Moriarty, her dog, and Weasley, Lily's cat, were snuggled up next to each other on the bed- they'd been fast friends from the instant she'd arrived.

Most of their belongings hadn't survived the battle, but what did make it, the Grangers had brought over to Twelve Grimmauld Place- or, rather, the Order had brought it for them, as the Grangers themselves were hardly in any sort of state to go through a move. Hermione had received a broken wrist, as well as all sorts of little cuts and bruises- and that wasn't mentioning most of her hair being burned off. Her mum wasn't injured, beyond a few scrapes and cuts of her own, but her dad, well- she'd hardly left her husband's side since that dreadful night ended.

It's all your fault.

It was hard to ignore the noise on her way downstairs, especially since, as she was camped up on the top floor, she had no choice but to pass directly by it. She didn't have the slightest clue what Aiya and her mother were arguing about, since it wasn't in a language she recognized, but she could recognize genuine fury on both of their faces. Thankfully, they were so invested in whatever it was that neither of them noticed her sidle past, her back pressed against the wall.

The Asaris were moved in the same day the Grangers were, as the Order feared they could be under fire, as well, even if Sae never actually got the chance to testify like Hermione had. The only difference was that they did not at all seem happy about it. Mrs. Asari would wander about the large abode, often drunk and rambling to herself, while Sae instead chose to spend all her time around Ginny- which meant that Hermione had gotten very little time with the other girl. As to Aiya, Sae's little sister- Hermione had only seen her the once before now, when they first moved in. After that, she'd been entirely locked away in her room- aside from the few instances, quite like this one, where she'd get into a row with her mum. According to Sae, that was likely to happen at least a dozen times a day, since none of them were allowed outside of the house without Order supervision.

She found Sae and Ginny in the kitchen, along with Mrs. Weasley, who was cooking them some breakfast, and Ron, who was staring with bleary, sleepy eyes at the plate of eggs, toast, and sausage in front of him. He was taking everything almost as badly as she was, despite not being in the battle- she'd hardly seen him crack so much as a smirk since she'd arrived. He'd mostly taken up sitting on the couch by himself, staring at the wall or an empty chessboard or, once, the blank screen of the telly.

"There you are!" Mrs. Weasley said, putting a kind arm around Hermione's shoulders and steering her towards the table. "You know, dear, I was skeptical at first, but that style does look lovely on you." As Hermione sat, Mrs. Weasley ruffled her hair, and then slid a plate of food in front of her. Mrs. Weasley had saved most of what she could, taking it upon herself to cut away the burnt ends and make it all presentable- but the constant compliments from her and the other women of the house did little more than constantly remind Hermione of the battle.

"Thanks," Hermione muttered anyway. She lifted her fork to her lips, just as Ginny took the seat in front of her and Sae filed in at her side.

"Sleep alright?" Ginny asked.

It's all your fault.

"No," Hermione answered truthfully, taking a bite of egg. She hadn't slept well at all, but that was to expected- she'd only had a few days between the battle and now, and she couldn't stop thinking about the screams, and how Lily- no, Voldemort, she had to remember that- had just stepped right over poor Mr. Morrison's body.

"Maraktis not helping much, then?" Ginny asked, a bit quieter this time.

"No," Hermione said again, taking another bite. She had another meeting with him later today- the Order quite insisted on it. She didn't think it would be much help, though. She was starting to understand just why Lily was always so reluctant to share her experiences- it was much harder to talk about these things than Hermione had expected it to be.

"Dad said Bill is allowed visitors, now," Ginny said, changing the topic. "We were going to go see him, if you want to tag along."

"Or you can stay with me," Sae added quickly, glancing up at the ceiling with a grimace when the voices got louder. "Merlin knows I could use a distraction. We could brew some-"

"I'm going to visit my dad later," Hermione said, and that was that. Nobody said anything more as she ate the rest of her meal, but she could hear what was on their mind.

It's all your fault.

Lily was lost. She was trekking through a wild, dark forest, unable to move her own feet- regardless, though, they continued forward. It was as if she knew exactly where she was going, even though she had no earthly idea where she could possibly be. It was chilly, but not terribly so, which made her think it must be late summer. She could hear the distant chirping of insects, occasionally silenced by the hooting of an owl, but, otherwise, the only company she had was the sound of her own thoughts. All she could do was walk and wonder.

Not my dreams, she thought. Voldemort's. Not mine. It was important to remember that.

Finally, she spied a light through the branches and leaves, and she sped her pace up to it. Or, well, she would have, if she had control. Still, her pace quickened, until, finally, she came out into an overgrown garden. Whatever they'd been growing, now it was ivy and weeds. There was a small shack, rotting and falling apart, sitting to the side, with part of the roof collapsed into it. The door still stood, if barely, and there was a long, rusty nail lodged where a knocker should go. Lily wasn't deterred, apparently. She walked straight towards it, wand held firmly in her left hand, and shoved it open.

Not my wand, she thought. Not my hand. She used her right to cast spells- or- or she did. Before- before-

The door fell from its hinges and landed on the filthy floor with a loud thud, dust spreading from the impact. The inside of the house was even worse than the outside. There was a small kitchen, way in the corner, covered almost entirely in rank, black mold, and the room immediately at the entrance was at one time, undoubtedly, a sitting room. Now, the furniture lay broken and crumbling, all except for one chair at the far back, where a decrepit man sat, staring at Lily as she stepped over the door.

Not me. Voldemort. Stop forgetting that.

"Morfin Gaunt," she said, only she sounded like a teenage boy. "I'd heard you were just released from Azkaban. It is a shame, what happened to your father."

Whoever Morfin Gaunt was, he looked terrible. He had a beard stretching almost to his waist, ratted and tangled and filled with filth, half of it turned gray from stress and age. His nails were long, sharp, and yellow as aged milk. Lily couldn't make out his eyes from the matted hair covering his face, but she could feel them watching her.

"Go away, boy," the man said in a hiss. "Let me die in peace."

"In time," Lily said, taking another step towards him, only now realizing they were both speaking in Parseltongue. "For now, I want something from you."

"You'll have nothing and you'll-"

"Tom Riddle," she said, stepping closer, her boots causing dust to rise from the floorboards. "Who was he? Where is he? I would very much like to give my father his proper greetings."

That's not right, Lily finally managed to think. My father is- he's-

She wasn't in the house, anymore, and she was suddenly in quite a bit of pain, and the tears in her eyes were blinding her to her surroundings.

Stop struggling, the voice in her head said. I will have control.

"No," Lily said, her voice barely even a growl in the back of her throat. "It's mine. I'm- I'm-"

She didn't recognize her surroundings- no, she did, but it was just- she was in a boat? The night was dark around them, but she could hear the waves around them, and see- see- a tower? Why was there-

I said it is mine, the voice said more insistently, and, then, she was pushed away.

Hermione Granger felt at a complete loss of what to do, sitting next to her father's bed. Her mother was at her side, looking a frightful, tired mess, and not saying a word or even bothering to look at her. She was staring at her comatose husband, his hand clutched between both of hers, and whispering soft little words of comfort to him. Her father just looked like he was sleeping peacefully, as if nothing at all was wrong in the world.

This is all your fault, Hermione thought, turning her gaze back to the hands resting in her lap. She wanted to say something, but- she didn't feel like it would be welcome. She heard a knock at the door, and while she turned to look, her mother hadn't even seemed to notice.

Ashley Smith peeked into the door, and Hermione's eyes locked onto the bandage wrapped around her head.

This is all your fault.

"Hermione?" Ashley said quietly. "Can I borrow you for a moment?"

Hermione glanced at her mum, who had still yet to notice the intrusion. She stood and followed Ashley out of her room, keeping her eyes on her feet.

"How are you holding up?" Ashley asked as they walked carefully through the halls of St. Mungo's. Her father was being held in the Magical Catastrophes and Accidents Inflicted Upon Muggles Ward (or the Mud Ward, as she'd heard one Healer whisper to another, when they first arrived to visit her father.)

Hermione smiled tightly, but said nothing.

This is all your fault.

"He'll make it," Ashley said, kindly squeezing her hand. "Any- any idea on how long he'll be asleep for?"

Hermione shook her head. They were told it could be anywhere from a day to a few years- there were hundreds of curses that inflicted a deep sleep on the victim, and they all had unique ways of breaking them. It was all a matter of finding out which one the Death Eaters had put upon her father- and Hermione had her suspicions that the Healers couldn't be bothered expediting the care of a single Muggle.

"Your mother was in quite the state last night," Ashley said. "Is she- oh. I- Hermione, are you alright?"

Hermione shook her head and wiped at the tears streaming from her eyes with trembling hands.

"Th-this is all m-my fault," she said, unable to keep the following sob in. Ashley didn't hesitate. She pulled Hermione's head to her chest and wrapped her arms around her in a tight hug, the likes of which her own mother had denied her, when they'd learned of her father's fate.

"No," Ashley whispered softly. "Don't put this on yourself, Hermione. It's not your fault."

Hermione shook her head. Ashley didn't understand.

"This is all your fault," her mother had said the first night after the battle, when Hermione found her sobbing and halfway through a bottle of gin.

And she'd been right. Hermione had put them in this position. Hermione had gotten all those innocent Muggles killed or injured. Hermione had gotten their house blown up. Hermione had put her father into this coma. Hermione was behind everything- and all because she just had to be born into a world that hated her, because she had to befriend, to fall in love with, the nicest person she'd ever known, and because she just had to try and do the right thing.

This is all your fault, Hermione thought as Ashley held her tighter.

She was back in Hogwarts; she'd recognize the stone walls anywhere. She was somewhere on the second floor- there was a portrait of Jesamine the Mindful on her left, sipping at a cup of tea and perusing her usual book. She remembered asking what it was about, once, only for the woman to turn the book towards her to show off the blank pages.

"We have to make our own entertainment, in these frames," she'd said with a wan smile.

It was dark, well past curfew. What was she doing out this late? She couldn't force herself to look around, even though she wanted to. She was stuck, walking forward and not caring about anything else but whatever her purpose was. The girl's bathroom, she thought, knowing, somehow, that it was true. I'm going to the girl's bathroom. It must have been third year, then- she slept in the place, for a week or two, back then. Something about that didn't feel right, though. She was taller than she should have been. Feeling a sudden sense of panic, she quickly pat down her chest.

Good, she thought, feeling relief when she touched a hard rectangle. I didn't forget the diary. She needed it so she could record-

Diary, Lily thought. I haven't written in mine in ages. She was avoiding it because she was mad at Lupin. His nightmares. Not mine. His.

She tried to turn her head, to get a good look at one of the windows she was passing, but she had no control over her own muscles. It was only when she reached the second floor bathroom and raised her hand to push the door open that she realized something was wrong.

Too big, she thought, looking at what should have been her own hand. Fingers are too thick, too. Plus, she liked to keep her nails a pretty little pink.

Get out, she thought very hard. The image around her only blurred for a second before solidifying and becoming clear once more. Then she was crossing the room towards the sink, where a certain snakelike faucet was waiting for her. She could hear someone sniffing and crying in a stall far in the back. That was wrong. There wasn't supposed to be anybody in the room. This was just supposed to be a trial run, to see if she could open the Chamber.

But this was better. An opportunity to really see the power of Slytherin's monster, and to deal a blow to the filthy Mudbloods, all in one swoop. An opportunity that excited her to a disgusting degree. She could feel the smile on her face and a rising warmth within.

No, Lily thought, her mind- her real mind- catching up. It's Myrtle. This is- this is when she- when she- get out! I don't want to see-

She spoke, then, a hideous, awful hissing noise.

"I am the Heir of Slytherin, and I demand you open."

Hermione still felt like a mess when Ashley finally got her to the room where the other members of the Order of the Phoenix were resting and healing. She could feel how raw her eyes were, but when the Weasleys greeted her with smiles and waves, she returned them as if she hadn't just spent the last half an hour crying. They at least tried to make her feel welcome. She couldn't say the same for the other guests in the room.

"You cannot hide the truth from us forever, Dumbledore," Cornelius Fudge shouted, his face as red as Lily's hair. "A dozen dead! The Muggles might believe the gas explosion cover, but our kindwon't- what, exactly, am I supposed to tell everybody?"

"The truth," Dumbledore said plainly. He tried to place a hand on Fudge's shoulder, but the other man was pulled back by the aurors guarding him. "Cornelius, please- the time to be obstinate has passed. You must listen to reason. Voldemort has returned, and if the Ministry moves against him, we may still be able to-"

"No!" Fudge said, poking a fat finger into Dumbledore's chest. "He is not back! He can't be!"

"Cornelius-"

"You, yourself, told me he was dead, Dumbledore!" Fudge shouted.

"I said he was gone," Dumbledore corrected. "And I warned you that, one day, he would return. That day is now, Cornelius. Your aurors saw his mark in the sky themselves!"

"They saw nothing!" Fudge insisted. And, yet- Hermione could have sworn she saw the two aurors standing behind him shift uncomfortably. One of them even looked as if they were going to say something- only, then, another auror came from behind Ashley and Hermione, hurrying towards the Minister, and whispered something in his ear. The only word Hermione caught was "Azkaban," but the Minister's face turned pale and terrified and, with one last look at Dumbledore, he swept out of the room in a hurry.

"Ashley," Dumbledore said immediately upon spotting her. "Go to Bones."

"But-"

"Now," Dumbledore said, hurrying to follow after the Minister. "She will have great need of you, momentarily, and time is of the essence."

Hermione could practically hear Ashley grinding her teeth while she thought. She took a deep breath, grabbed Hermione by the shoulders, and then leaned in close and dropped her voice.

"I was going to go with you," she whispered, "but- wait for me, Hermione. It might be a couple of days, but- we'll go together."

"Go where?" Hermione asked, matching her volume.

"Sirius will tell you," Ashley said, eyes darting to his bed, where a gruff, hairy auror was sitting with him. "He knows the plan. Be careful, Hermione, be brave, and- and I promise you, none of this is your fault."

Hermione still didn't believe her, but Ashley kissed her once on the cheek before leaving the room in just as much of a hurry as Fudge had been in. She almost went straight towards Sirius- only, his conversation seemed important. The man he was speaking to was the only auror that hadn't left the room with the Minister. She considered interrupting for another moment and then walked anxiously over to the Weasleys and took a seat next to Bill's bed, all without saying a word. Ginny smiled at her before turning back to the conversation. Bill wasn't in too bad of shape- he'd be dismissed in just a few hours. His brother, Charlie, had it worse, with the bottom half of his body having its skin transfigured into scales, but he'd be out, too, albeit after a longer stay. There were a few more Order members laying in beds, too, all with various lengths of stay- it was Sirius that got the worst of it, and she wasn't at all looking forward to his judgment.

It's all my fault, she thought, wringing her hands together.

She was still in the girl's bathroom on the second floor, standing over Moaning Myrtle's chilling body. She was laughing, so unable to hide her rapture that she was dancing, arms spread wide and twirling around the Basilisk, as if there wasn't a little girl dead on the floor that she'd been responsible for.

Not me, she thought, trying to stay numb to the horror. It wasn't me.

"Filthy Mudblood!" she shouted, suddenly turning and kicking Myrtle in the ribs, over and over and over again until she was short of breath. She almost ordered the Basilisk to eat her, then, only- she needed a body, for what she wanted to do. She hadn't intended to start tonight. She'd only brought the diary to record the first opening of the Chamber of Secrets since Salazar Slytherin himself roamed these halls. But why not use it for something else? To signify the beginning of her reign- her true reign- as the Dark Lord, Voldemort, for once and for all?

Him, she reminded herself. It was him. Not me.

He sent the Basilisk back into the Chamber of Secrets, and then got to work. The ritual for the first time required the blood of their victim- supposedly, it got easier the more often one did it, becoming almost effortless in the end- and, now that she was dead, it was a simple matter to ply the main ingredient straight from Myrtle's veins. He drew the required symbols in circles on blank pages of his diary and then pressed his lips to the same vein he'd opened and drank. It wasn't her body, wasn't her memory- but Lily could feel the cooling blood as it went down her throat, could taste the iron on her tongue.

He laughed, then, and Lily pushed against the memory before she could see more.

Get out of me!

Calm yourself, Black. I am not done with you quite yet.

Hermione waited as long as she could bear, once the older auror was gone. Then, finally, she took a deep breath, and went to sit next to Sirius.

He looked bad. His face was just as gaunt and skeletal as when she first saw him in third year, and he was constantly covered in a sheen of sweat. She couldn't see his chest, but she'd heard it was covered in a huge, dark bruise. Nobody would tell her what curse Lily- no, Voldemort- had hit him with, but she overheard the Healers saying he would have started rotting from the inside out, if it hadn't been for the watches. If it hadn't been for those, he would have died- instead, he was just in for the longest hospital stay of the Order.

It's all your fault, she thought, watching him try to sleep with closed eyes. She wasn't going to say anything at all, but, eventually, he opened them of his own freewill, and smiled when he found her sitting there.

"Hermione," he said in a deathly whisper. "Thought you were Scrimgeour again. Was going to keep pretending, but there's no way that bugger could stand the silence for this long. You holding up alright?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm fine. It's- it's everyone else that isn't." What right did she have to complain?

"It's not your fault, Hermione," he said, trying to sit up and wincing in pain. "Merlin, dying is a foul business. Oh, it's just a joke- bit of gallows humor."

"You shouldn't joke like that," Hermione said, deciding to stare at her hands in her lap instead.

It's all your fault.

"I'll be alright," Sirius said as if he wasn't in a tremendous amount of pain. "Just in for a rough few nights, is all."

Hermione wasn't as confident. She couldn't help but notice that Sirius was the only patient Dumbledore hadn't spoken with.

"Listen," Sirius said, suddenly sounding more serious. "Where's Ashley?"

"Work," Hermione said to her hands. "Dumbledore said Bones will need her."

Sirius swore, his voice barely carrying past his bed.

"You'll need to find someone else you trust, then," Sirius said. "I just hope she's left the blocker where you can find it."

"What?" Hermione said, suddenly looking up.

"Listen very carefully," Sirius said, lowering his voice and glancing around the room to make sure nobody else was listening. "We've got to get Lily out of there. We have to- and Dumbledore's not going to do it, not after the battle."

It's all your fault.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, unable to stop herself, her gaze dropping back to her hands.

"Don't be," Sirius said. "It wasn't your fault. It's all Dumbledore's, or- or mine. But we're going to fix it, now."

"How are we-"

"Ashley got a Trace Blocker for you," Sirius said, quickly and quietly. "She left them in the library back home, behind a tome called The Life and Times of Mercutio Black. She said you asked for it- said you had a plan."

Hermione blinked and then recalled her conversation from- from right before it happened.

It's all your fault.

"I-" she said, taking a moment to swallow down the lump in her throat. "I was starting one."

"Tell me."

"Lily's cloak of invisibility is really good," Hermione said sheepishly. "It- she said Mad-Eye couldn't see through it, and if he can't, then- well-"

"It is good," Sirius said. "James said it was passed down through their family for centuries, and not once did a ward pick up so much as a whiff of us, so long as we were under it. That's it, then? You were going to go yourself?"

"Yes," Hermione said, wringing her hands together again. "I thought- I thought, if it was good enough to get Katie out, then- only- after- after the battle, I-"

"It's under my bed," Sirius said quickly. "It's- it's in a box, under a bunch of magazines with- err- well- magazines," Sirius added, sounding sheepish all of a sudden. "Not her kind, more- more mine, I suppose. I thought that- err- if she went looking for it, that would keep her from going in too deep."

"Right," Hermione said, not quite understanding.

"You'll have to stay under it while you're in there," Sirius said. "That was her mistake, when she went for Katie- she passed wards without it on and triggered all the security. Don't take it off until you find her. That is critical."

"Sirius," Hermione said reluctantly. "I can't. I-"

"She's on the top floor, under Lucius's study," Sirius said. "Snivellous told us that much, when we were making our plans. You'll have to levitate his desk to get to the entrance. And don't go alone- Ashley was supposed to go with you, and I- I can't. Pick someone you can trust. Not any of the Order- not Fleur's parents, either, or any of the people they brought- they'll want to go in force, and that'd mean alerting Dumbledore. He can't know. Not until Lily is safe home. Promise me."

"I can't, Sirius," Hermione said, louder this time.

"What?" Sirius said, sounding confused and weary. "But- I thought-"

"I couldn't do anything," Hermione said, chewing her lip. "I couldn't- couldn't even buy us time."

"Hermione-"

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, hurrying to her feet and turning away before he could see her tears. "I can't."

She hurried out of the room before Sirius could argue further. He just didn't understand. All she'd done was get people killed- she was stupid to think anything she was doing was helping, and she would not make that mistake again.

She was back in the shack again, from earlier, only- only Morfin Gaunt was gone, now. She didn't know where he was, but she had a feeling she wouldn't see him again, that a good many months had passed since the last time- maybe even years. She couldn't be certain. She was crouching on the dirty floor, over a small hole in the floorboards where she'd peeled one back, staring at her open palm.

A ring was resting on the pale skin. It was made of cold, black iron, with an equally dark stone embedded into it. She took it into her long fingers, turning it about and about. There was a triangle in the stone, hardly legible, with a circle and a single line centered in it. That was curious. She had no idea what it was, but it- it was supposed to be the sigil of Slytherin. She knew that, somehow. But it didn't matter. She didn't intend on ever seeing the thing again. Her protections would keep it safe enough, if anybody even knew where to look in the first place.

She dropped the ring into the floorboards, and then she woke, the same way she had last time: laying on the cold floor, and clutching at her throbbing scar, gasping for every bit of air she could get. Only, this time, it was accompanied by laughter.

Lily looked up. Voldemort was back in his throne, looking exceptionally pleased with himself. Kneeled before him were ten people, dressed in the rags and tatters of an Azkaban prisoner's uniform- Lily recognized it from when Sirius was wearing the same. It was the one directly in front of Voldemort- one of two women- that was laughing. She couldn't seem to stop.

He did it, then, Lily thought, pressing her forehead to the cold marble tiles, just to get some relief into it. She felt sick. She'd kept her powers a secret, all so she could enjoy just one little thing without anyone trying to take it from her. And, now, it was Voldemort's power, and not a single person would be prepared to stop him from doing anything he wanted. He could kill Fudge, tonight, and then walk into the Ministry looking just like him tomorrow, and it was all her fault.

"Antonin," Voldemort said, appraising the man on the far left. "Augustus," he added, moving on to the next man. "Gibbon. Jugson. Mulciber, Thorfinn, Travers, Rodulphus, Rastaban- and dear, dear Bellatrix. Welcome, all of you, back into my service. You have been dearly missed."

"Master," the laughing woman said, crawling forward and kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes. "Master- I knew you would return. I knew you would come for us."

"And your patience will be awarded, Bellatrix," Voldemort said, looking over them all again. "Each of you remained loyal to the last- and you shall be rewarded for it. Ask a boon of me, and it will be granted."

"Master," Bellatrix said, speaking up first and, this time, kissing his feet. "My daughter- I have not seen her since-"

"Your daughter is unreachable to us," Voldemort said dismissively. "She will be returned to you, in time- but not now. You must ask of me something else."

Bellatrix turned her head and found Lily with dark, greedy eyes. She smiled at her with yellowed teeth. "Then I ask only to punish the one responsible for taking my child away from me."

Voldemort found her too, then. Lily couldn't read the expression on his face. "Granted. Do not break her, Bella- the body is mine, and I would prefer not to have any further permanent injuries to heal."

Lovely, Lily thought as the woman took an eager step towards her, wondering when she'd just be allowed to die.

Hermione ran upstairs almost as soon as she was home. It'd taken another three hours before her mother thought to come looking for her, so they could both go back to Grimmauld Place. Her mother had gone first and not stood with her arms crossed along her chest. She watched Hermione as she moved towards the stairs, as if mulling something over, but said nothing, even though Hermione would have taken anything, so long as it came in her mother's voice.

It's all your fault.

Logically, Hermione knew her mother hadn't meant what she said. She knew her mum was hurting, and scared, and that, in a moment of weakness, and in the middle of her drink, she'd said something she'd likely regret the rest of her life. But, emotionally, that didn't make it hurt any less, and the longer her mum went without speaking to her, the more it hurt. She almost made it back to her room- Lily's room- when something else occurred to her.

I'll just check, she thought, her hand slipping off the door handle. I'm not going. I'm just checking.

She found the Trace Blockers right where Sirius said they would be, but what he hadn't mentioned was that he had at least three boxes under his bed filled with men- and women, too, not in the correct box- in various states of undress. She found Lily's Cloak at the bottom of the last one, because of course it wouldn't be in the first she'd looked in.

She sat there for a long time, her gaze wandering back and forth between the blocker and the cloak.

I could go, she thought. I could grab Ron, and we could both go. No, he has the Trace, too, and I only have the one bracelet- Fred and George? They went with Lily, they wouldn't question me. Would they?

But that would just get all of them killed. She couldn't do this on her own, and Fred and George wouldn't be enough. It was a stupid idea.

She dropped the items off in her room- Lily's room- and then headed downstairs to get some supper, trying to push the plan from her brain. No, she couldn't go- she couldn't. Her best chance would be to give the Cloak to an Order member- there had to be one she could trust, no matter what Sirius said.

As she entered the hallway, somebody gave three rapid, sharp knocks on the front door. Hermione was closest, if not the only other one home other than her mum, so she went to answer it, figuring it was another Order member returning from St. Mungo's.

Instead, she found a cloaked figure standing there, wearing a black robe and a skull mask.

No, she thought, her blood turning to ice. Not here, not now, please, no-

"'ermione," a familiar, French, womanly voice said. "Thank Merlin you are 'ere- please, where ees Dumbledore?"

Hermione stood frozen as the Death Eater reached up and pulled down her hood, her other hand prying the mask from her face. Hermione knew her, then- she recognized the clear, blue eyes, the long, blonde hair, and the way her skin seemed to radiate pure beauty.

"Fleur?" Hermione asked, her heart-beating quickly.