THE HEELS OF her shoes clicked loudly throughout the deserted corridors as they walked, Professor Snape's cloak billowing out behind him and swishing along the stone floor. He kept up a strenuously fast pace, one indicative of the urgency of the situation; she could not imagine him ever running unless something truly dire were at stake. But between the shallow breaths and the trembling of her hands, this cruel fact was entirely lost on Luxanna, and the only thing she could do to ground herself in reality was to focus on the agonising click, click, click, of her own footsteps.

"Cockroach Cluster."

Luxanna only barely registered this statement from her companion as he halted at the end of a long corridor. They had reached what was presumably the end of their destination after what felt like hours and hours of walking, and were now face to face with a rotating marble sculpture, which revealed behind it a narrow set of spiral steps that would no doubt carry her to her fate. But for some strange reason, all that Luxanna could think about was how silly the words sounded. Cockroach cluster... Silly.

"Enter," announced the voice from behind the door before Luxanna could even graze the wood with her knuckles, and so she stepped into the chamber beyond. immediately she was struck by the peculiarity of the room, but before her eyes even got the chance to wander, she was met with the sobering gaze of her headmaster, who had been watching her from across the room with a stony silence.

"I trust that you understand why you're here, Miss Black?" he asked, and it occurred to Luxanna that she had forgotten her manners and did not say 'Good morning, sir,' finding that, in the wake of this day, formalities as such had been left behind as relics of a past life.

Professor Dumbledore appeared to share this notion, raising his eyebrows slightly as he awaited her answer. She lifted her chin and cleared her throat nervously, still trying to hide under the confident expression that in normal circumstances came to her naturally.

"Professor Dumbledore..."

The courage she had just gathered to speak the words deflated from her chest in a sigh, interrupted not by Professor Dumbledore's voice, but by another man's. Half-expecting to find a member of the ministry with readied shackles next to her, Luxanna's head quickly snapped to meet the source of the noise.

"Black, you say? Black?"

It was a portrait of an elderly wizard with sunken cheeks and thick rimmed glasses who spoke. His small mouth pursed as he surveyed Luxanna with the critical eye of a curator inspecting a priceless artefact. "Did I hear that correctly, Albus?"

"Your hearing is as good as ever, I assure you, Phineas," said Dumbledore, with an almost impatient undertone. Their voices appeared to stir the surrounding portraits from their sleep, awakening a series of murmurous confusion.

"How can that be? My great-great-great grandson, Sirius Black never beared any offspring, and his brothers—"

"Settle down, settle down," urged Dumbledore with a small wave of his hand at the man's direction. "Let us tackle one revelation at a time." He moved over to stand behind his desk, but not before summoning an extra armchair with a flick of his wand and beckoning Luxanna towards it.

"Well then," he said in a sigh, "I think a seat would do us both some good."

As she settled into the armchair, the weight on her shoulders grew heavier, confining her into this feigned sentiment of comfort and forcing her to face the inevitable without any chance of escape. From the room's circular walls, the portraits leered down on them, all simultaneously awaiting the sound of a gavel striking wood in a pretend courtroom, where justice and order played second fiddle to the Headmaster's own agenda. The office floated around her in a silent haze, which only grew more dense the longer she was in its presence, and eventually reached its climax when, with just two words, Professor Dumbledore managed to break through its seemingly impenetrable shell:

"Alastor Moody."

"The... the thing is, sir, I..." She would not tell him. She could not tell him. Even if there existed a glimmer of hope, somewhere in the back of her head, that Dumbledore could sort it out—and as it was, Luxanna was almost certain that she and Dumbledore would see eye to eye on this particular matter—she simply could not risk it, not where her father's safety was concerned. "I went to... to Professor Moody, because I'd known he used to be an Auror, see, and I thought that perhaps I could persuade him to..."

"To hear your side of the story?" finished Dumbledore, surveying her over his spectacles.

"Yes. But he didn't submit to my version of events. He told me as much when he leant in and whispered a threat into my ear. I don't blame him," she added hurriedly, "of course not, he was doing the sensible thing; the other students believed that I was a threat to the school." This was only half a lie as far as she was concerned, because Frost said that it had been the excuse Moody used back then, when in truth he had probably been on his way to contact not the authorities, but his master.

"I see."

The reply was curt and revealed absolutely nothing, much to Luxanna's chagrin. He continued to stare at her, study her, and she felt her fingertips curl painfully into her own palms, every fibre of her being dying to flee this position. However, her posture held firm, and Luxanna stared right back, her jaw set and eyes narrowed. There would be no show of weakness. After a moment or two of this standoff, however, Dumbledore cleared his throat once more, and for the first time, he actually looked bothered.

"Miss Black. It pains me greatly to admit that your actions were reckless and very foolish. As we all know, no law exists without consequence, and in this case, the consequences are grave indeed. An attempted attack towards a staff member, in spite of the nature of your situation, is an act of gross insubordination and, quite frankly, unbecoming of what Hogwarts stands for."

A pause. In which the weight on her shoulders grew even heavier still, compressing her mind into a grotesque shape where her resolve crumbled at a speed that defied her composure. Luxanna found herself unable to speak—not in defiance, but from sheer, overwhelming anger—for Dumbledore's words mocked the essence of everything she believed in, down to the very foundations of how she had come to understand the world in which she lived; a world that had grown more confined by the moment, and less and less forgiving of her presence as the day wore on.

"I think we are in understanding about this."

"Yes," she said, breathless. The presence of her own pulse ticked inside of her ears, and her face grew hot in a fight against her own rising temper.

"Yes..." he echoed. "What, however, I think we are not in understanding of is why it had come to this in the first place. Why, Miss Black, did you not seek mine or the other teachers' guidance when you most needed it?"

"Guidance? Guidance?" Why fight it? it asked. "I don't want your guidance. I don't need your guidance. And I owe you nothing. I owe this school nothing. From the moment I have set foot into Hogwarts I have been estranged, outcast, humiliated. I've been treated like an anomaly by both students and teachers alike. And that's only thanks to my father's name. What about mine? Oh, that's right, I hardly exist away from his image, don't I?" She was on her feet, unsure of why Dumbledore had chosen this subject to begin with, yet utterly consumed by the need to voice her grievances, to scream, to shout, to tear at the fabric of these walls and rip apart the pretence of civility that surrounded them with bare hands and bloodied nails in some kind of anguished attempt to make amends for the past five years of humiliation and injustice. "The Death Eater's daughter! Let's throw mud at her, let's scorch her hair and write disgusting articles about her. And great! Here's another title to add to the list—You Know Who incarnate! Hold on, didn't I already answer your question, sir? Hadn't I said that I went to Professor Moody in hopes that he would hear my side of the story? And look how that turned out. You see, that's what comes of trusting others."

"I can understand why you would see it this way," Dumbledore said in a soft voice.

"No. You can't," she spilt before she could hold it in. Never in her life had she been this disrespectful towards an authority figure. You hardly know what happens under your own nose, you fool, she wanted to tell him. To the blazes with your sympathy and understanding. The squint of his eyes told her that he heard it either way.

"How many do you think could trust you?"

"None, I should hope," she said indignantly, falling back into the chair with her arms crossed over her chest.

"And yet there are those who do."

''Oh? Like who?"

"It has come to my attention that you've been secretly harbouring a pet snake. As a Parselmouth, I trust you've formed a rather trustworthy relationship with the creature?"

"That's over now, I'm afraid. I'll not be allowed to take her with me wherever it is that I go."

"And your fellow Slytherin friend, it seems to me he trusts you a great deal."

Luxanna shook her head. That, too, was over.

"I don't think I am wrong in believing that dissolving a friendship does not automatically mean all trust perishes away."

"I think you are," said Luxanna bluntly. "If you knew what I'd said to him..."

"Then, do you regret it?" Dumbledore asked curiously, almost eagerly.

There was a pause in which a slither of temptation caused her to contemplate Professor Dumbledore's question, but even that slight possibility of honour prevailed against her. No, she wouldn't sell herself short for someone else's amusement, no matter how bitter it made her feel.

"When are you going to ask the questions you truly want to, sir?"

"I already have," Dumbledore replied, then added after a moment, "asked all the questions I truly want to know."

Two freshly brewed cups of tea sat steaming on the table between them. Dumbledore sipped from one, watching Luxanna through half lidded eyes as he did so.

Her own tea remained untouched, the herbal scent lingering in the air around her as Dumbledore savoured their pause in conversation with small sips, while Luxanna deliberated on whether to drink the tea or smash the saucer upon the old man's head and call it a day.

Impatience tore at her, and when Dumbledore lifted the cup for the umpteenth time, she finally decided to ask, "What will happen to me now?"

"That depends," he said, returning the cup to its saucer. "The Ministry will no doubt wish to interrogate you further, given the severity of the claims against you. Your parents will be summoned here to answer a series of questions. If you are lucky, you will be given a trial, but even with the best defence at your side you will be deemed guilty, debarred from continuing your education at Hogwarts and, once your degree of... threat towards the school has been assessed you will be placed in a youth detention centre. Indefinitely."

"Very well," she said. Her face felt numb. "I'm sure that Cornelius Fudge would love to have another dark wizard in his custody."

"Yes, you've surmised his standpoint perfectly. The ministry would prefer that they had you under lock and key forever, if not for your alleged connection to Voldemort, then simply because you're a threat to the safety of the Wizarding community at large… But unfortunately for Cornelius Fudge, the ministry has no say in what happens to my students. That decision stands with me alone. And the students themselves of course," he added on a lighter note.

Dumbledore rose from his chair and retreated to the back of the room where a small chest stood atop a tall shelf. He produced a long brass key from his robe's pocket and unlocked the container from which he withdrew a small glass vial of clear liquid. He took his time walking back to his desk, much to Luxanna's budding apprehension.

"I believe I have a solution to our problem."

"What is it?" Luxanna asked, leaning forward in her seat.

"One of my most curious possessions," Dumbledore said, meanwhile eyeing the vial affectionately like a child who had just received their very first wand. "This vial contains one of, if not the most potent Forgetfulness potions in the world."

"Sir?"

"I had this made via an acquaintance of mine the day before you first came to Hogwarts," he began. "You see, I foresaw something like this happening some day. Old and grizzled as I am, I am still the headmaster of a school, and that means that every day I come face to face with the sort of recklessness one can only meet with in an adolescent mind. I knew that one day your secret would slip, or else be procured from you against your will, and so I made sure I had the means necessary to contain it."

Luxanna was unsure where to begin. Did she even understand him correctly?

"You want to... Wait, you knew?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"And you want to contain it? To... to help me?"

He nodded again.

"What? Why?" she insisted. "You don't blame me?"

"It is not my place to pass judgement on matters of conscience. Your guilt is your responsibility, Miss Black, whatever it is that you've done or haven't done, only you alone can atone for it. But I can assure you that your faults do not lay within the barks of your family tree. You are hardly to blame for being who you are; we do not choose the family we are born in, do we?"

Luxanna pursed her lips. Dumbledore could hardly know anything about her family. The true facts were often quite different than those publicly believed, and to proclaim a pretend statement with such conviction like that, with false pretence and a lack of knowledge, only served to further muddy the waters she was already swimming in, which was quite possibly the aim of the exercise, but at this point she could scarcely care what his real reasons were, only taking assurance in the one thing she knew was true; the fact that his mere association with her secret might cost him dearly in the future, if word ever got out. This meant that she had a certain leverage over him, in a perverse sort of way, and so, in response to his offer, Luxanna nodded slowly, as though giving the appropriate response to a particularly difficult question in class. He smiled, looking pleased, and she breathed easy for the first time since this whole debacle began. However, there was still one question that clung in her mind like an annoying itch, and so she mustered the courage to ask it.

"Does this mean that if people drank this they would forget about me entirely?"

"Not quite. Let's put it this way: If your friend, Mr Dankworth, were to drink this potion he would forget entirely about the argument you two had in the hospital the other day."

"How'd..." Luxanna began, but Dumbledore continued speaking.

"But he would not forget about the day you first met, or either of the times that you boldly stood up for him against his oppressors. Or, for instance, your time spent together at the top of the Astronomy Tower."

Her teeth gritted together in an attempt to stifle the burning remark that was about to escape her mouth. When he said he had been observing her for a long time, she did not take it to mean that he'd been observing every second of her day. There was that very familiar discomfort Luxanna often felt on the other side of somebody else's desk—her father's. Was nothing ever private?

"Because those memories were err... pleasant? For him?"

"Happy. Because those were happy memories, Miss Black."

"Right."

Dumbledore nodded and helped himself to another sip of tea. "Professor Moody was indeed on his way to alert the authorities when I caught up to him."

Luxanna leant forward in her chair slightly, and Dumbledore obliged with an answer.

"You may rest easy knowing that I performed a Memory charm on him before he was able to leave the school's premises."

"You wiped his memory?"

"I altered his memory. The last twenty four hours of it, at least. He has no recollection of ever having discovered your secret, and found himself utterly perplexed at being stranded on the edge of the Forbidden Forest all by himself. I made sure to escort him back to his office safely. But," he said before she could pose the question, "because I cannot individually alter each and every person's memory by myself, I do believe that the potion is our best solution. The safest way to handle this."

It had been much longer than twenty four hours ago when Moody revealed his true nature to her, so that promise still held firm, and the fleeting hope of ever informing Dumbledore about it quickly suffocated with it. As the discomfort settled down, however, Luxanna was able to see the wisdom of Dumbledore's plan. It was the perfect solution; hardly anybody at school carried a fond memory of her except for Alex. Drinking the potion would mean a clean slate, a new beginning, one free from all of her past mistakes—and they were numerous this year. She could even tell her father that she had followed his advice and stuck to his rules, never angered anybody. And Alex... Alex would be her friend once more, she realised with a greediness that was so unlike her that it made her shudder to think of it. She sighed, finally feeling the weight lift from her shoulders.

In light of this new revelation it was suddenly plain to her that she not only enjoyed Alex's company, she needed it, too, and perhaps now more than ever, if only to feel alive and not like the dead weight she truly was, the kind her father wanted her to be. Despite how much Alex sometimes vexed her, she had already welcomed him into her life's routine, and it was suddenly difficult to imagine a life without his presence, without somebody trailing behind her, somebody to share her burdens and keep her going despite her own personal struggles, somebody to remind her to stay focused, to fight for her cause, somebody good. And to lose the only person who retained even a single happy memory of her…

"Sir…" Luxanna said, disconnecting the soppy train of thought. Dumbledore inclined his head. "You said people would only remember happy memories, but I think hardly anyone has a happy memory of me... so, what about those memories in between? The ones which are neither happy nor sad?"

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore murmured and paused briefly to consider his words, "in such cases where the mind is divided, where memories float within this grey area of uncertainty, I believe that the decision lies within one's heart. Yes, I think it will fall to the heart to make the final call, to... tip the scale, so to speak."

She could not admit that she fully understood what she was being told, but at the risk of looking ignorant, she kept her questions to herself.

"And the heart is seldom wrong, Miss Black."

"I see," she said, and thought briefly about the nature of memories, wondering how many of her own resided in that strange limbo.

"There is... one drawback, however," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "There is no way to know the sure timeframe the obliviating properties will encompass. It acts differently upon everybody in accordance with their physiology. But my dear acquaintance, an expert in his subject, has assured me that it is to cover the previous few months at the very least, so your secret will be safe, I can promise you that."

"Very well," Luxanna conceded. "And… thank you, sir."

Dumbledore smiled, offering the solution in his hand to her.

"I think you know exactly what to do with this," he said.

And just like that, as though the headmaster's words were magic, Luxanna found that she indeed knew exactly what to do.

"Ah, and would you look at that? It's nearly dinner time. I personally could do with some squash and carrot soup, especially after a day like today," Dumbledore concluded with a knowing smirk.

Silverware clinked and tinkled and the sound of voices rose in a din. Luxanna was first to arrive for dinner, yet the only one to not eat from her plate, or drink from her cup. The empty space of the seat next to hers which should have been occupied by Alex was now vacant with a plate still set before it, waiting for its owner's arrival. As people filed in, one after another, in their turn taking their place at the table and leaving little to no space left, she spotted him at last, standing as if transfixed on the threshold, with reddened eyes and hands folded inside his pockets.

Alex shuffled towards the Slytherins' table, where the only available spot, other than the one beside her, was at the end of the bench next to Warrington. No sooner than he slid his leg over the bench, however, than Warrington turned and said, "Piss off, Dankworth, go sit somewhere else," and Alex had to scramble back to his own seat with an embarrassed grimace, not sparing a look at Luxanna, who appreciated the courtesy of it. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that he lacked an appetite as well; when the food appeared he sat staring at his plate, hardly touching it with his fork, while the others feasted and chattered amongst themselves, drowning their cups like there was no tomorrow—which was just sublime, she thought, for half an hour prior to dinner, Luxanna slipped into the Chamber once more and emptied the vial into the castle's aqueduct, ensuring that all water would be tainted with the taste of her forthcoming freedom.

Over to her left, Selwyn, Rowle and Travers sank their cups eagerly, toasting each other and laughing uproariously. Spinster helped herself to a small sip, and moments later looked at Luxanna and Alex as though she could not quite place their presence in the room. Luxanna watched as one by one the faces of students still glaring at her, still mocking her, died down into glazed expressions, as though collectively overcome by a dream, their smirks and sneers replaced with slack jaws and unfocused gazes which shifted back to their plates. A kindness settled over her, a relief, however fleeting, she thought, a kind of peace, as though the world had just stopped for the briefest of instants and allowed her a few precious seconds of respite from the pain of the past days, weeks, months, and years. Next to her, Alex… Alex had raised his cup, too, and she...

She couldn't do it.

Because inside this kindness existed a world of its own, a world of happiness and of comfort, a world she desperately yearned for. The warmth in her cheeks and in her ears, the softness in her limbs, the balmy breeze which caressed her skin and blew through her hair—a boy under a starlit sky, sitting there, both of them, and talking of nothing in particular and everything at once. This world, which nestled atop a moonlit tower, confined to her mind by a blanket of shimmering darkness did not belong to her, and neither did its kindness. It had been given to her through no effort of her own; she could not earn it.

And how frightening was that?

"Don't," she whispered with a tug at his sleeve, "It's laced."

"What?"

"Don't drink it. In fact, don't drink anything today at all, go thirsty."

The confusion that played out in his eyes settled into a pensive frown, followed by a defeated nod as he lowered his cup and placed it on the table gently without a word. He understood. As the finality of the decision sank in, it brought with it a sort of hollowness, carved into a memory to serve as a reminder of the split second choice she had just made. She didn't regret it, not yet at least, but oh, just how bitter could the aftertaste of righteousness be, when savoured for the first time?

Luxanna offered a silent prayer to the night sky and watched with a detached sense of curiosity as the students around her, one by one, drowned their drinks. That's when she leant over slightly and craned for a better view past the student sitting opposite her, to see the tables across the hall, where over dozens of heads between them, she made out the ones she sought: the Weasleys.

Except that instead of helping himself to a cup, one of the twins was staring determinately at her. She could not mistake the way his eyes narrowed at her direction in a wordless accusation, and she decided to respond by shooting back a look of raised eyebrows accompanied by a jerk of the hand, miming a silent "What?" But it did not seem to discourage him, and the longer he looked at her, the more agitated she became, the more worried—she trained her eye at his cup, realising she could not remember whether he had taken a sip or not. Had he taken a sip?

In the spirit of this wordless conversation, Weasley slid his elbow across the table, pushing the cup away from himself, taunting her—she knew his words exactly. "I'm not falling for it." Luxanna groaned internally, but instead of acting out on her frustration, she sought out Dumbledore, who must have been observing the scene for quite some time, for when she finally made eye contact, he simply nodded his encouragement at her. She knew what he was thinking, too: "Handle it."

But how? There were people all around and the potion was— The potion... she realised. She still had a bit of potion left. Sure he wouldn't drink from the cups at the table, but he couldn't decline a conveniently staged bottle of Butterbeer, could he?

Luxanna slipped past the great iron doors at a haste, unaware of the footsteps which echoed her own across the stone floors of the Chamber. By now, those unsuspecting souls which still sat dining would be halfway through their main courses, and already the memories of her would have begun to fade and grow dim, unaware even that her usual seat at the table was unoccupied. Unaware also, of how seconds after she rose panicked from her chair and dashed away from the room, another person had followed closely behind her. And though this was not what she hoped to achieve by her departure, it fed conveniently into her plan nonetheless, so that when Weasley made his presence known, Luxanna did not stop to wonder why he was there, or what he wanted; she simply stood motionless, waiting for him to speak, as he walked to close the distance between them with an unfamiliar, strangely solemn expression.

"I'm not about to drink whatever you poured in those cups," he said resolutely, voice echoing in the vastness of space.

Luxanna turned and surveyed him over the expanse of the empty room before speaking in a flat, dry tone. "Yes, I'm aware of that."

"I want this to be over," he said. "This thing between us, it's ruined my life and I want it over and done with."

He had halted halfway up the hall, some several feet away from her in a formal manner likely intended as a courtesy of respect for her personal space. Or maybe it was due to plain apprehension. This was George Weasley, after all, the less sensible of the twins, come to defend his pride and his beloved brother; his counterpart would not have had the courage to face her after the injuries suffered by her wand.

"And how do you intend to accomplish that?" asked Luxanna, irritated, but not lacking in patience to hear what he had to say. "Because if memory serves, it's you who targeted me, not the other way around."

"I know. And for that I'm sorry."

She continued, pretending not to hear him, "So... unless you for some reason decide to set aside your wicked nature and decide to do something as uncharacteristic as I don't know... leaving me be? I'm afraid it's a bit late for regrets, isn't it?"

"I've said I'm sorry."

Her breath escaped her in a near laugh of disbelief. His voice was firm, but his words had all the conviction of a child's plea of innocence, a boy's feeble attempt to defend himself against a charge of mischief. "Just how deep does your dishonesty run? To come here, after all that's happened, and pronounce a lie like that without shame?"

"It's not a lie."

"What is it? What do you hope to gain?" asked Luxanna with a shrug, shaking her head.

"I don't know—my friends, maybe? Who you've fooled into thinking there's more than hatred between you and me? My brother, who won't look me in the eye? My mother, who looks down upon me every time she passes me in the kitchen, and thinks less of me because of what she thinks I did?"

Luxanna raised her eyebrows, but still kept her silence while he continued.

"Back at the Owlery... they were going to send a letter to the ministry. I told them not to, I tried to get them to stop. I didn't think you deserved to suffer the worst, even after what you did to Fred. Nobody does."

"How thoughtful of you."

"Alright, enough with the sarcasm, you aren't as clever as you think you are. I'm trying to do the right thing."

"Yes, well, you'll have to try harder, because after everything you and your brother have put me through, I've come to believe not only that you're incapable of doing the right thing, but that the concept of morality is entirely foreign to you both."

His jaw worked, chewing on words that never left his throat. "I don't... There's nothing else to say. I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?"

He shrugged, looked down at his feet, then glanced at her again, eyes pleading, searching for something, perhaps some way through, something to convince her that there was any truth to his words. The vial of potion sat neatly on her desk between the two of them, last droplets of liquid pooling at the bottom, next to the unopened bottle of Butterbeer, and Luxanna wondered just how Dumbledore meant for her to do this.

"For everything. For setting your hair on fire, for pouring a truth serum in your drink…"

"You know that's actually how I got the idea for tonight's specialty."

"Right," he paused to say.

"What else?"

"For locking you in with that Boggart. Yeah, we planned that..."

"I know."

"We didn't think it'd end that way—that it'd be that bad—didn't anticipate..."

"We?" Luxanna interjected. "I don't suppose your brother is sorry, too?"

"Fred? No, he's... No."

"Now that's just plain odd, seeing as you two generally cohabit the same deranged mind."

This did the trick; he dropped his gaze, muttered under his breath, then looked back at her with his brow furrowed in anger. "That's completely untrue, we coul…"

"No, you're right," she cut in again. "You definitely have it worse. At least he's got the pride to save himself the embarrassment of coming down here and feigning remorse."

"I'm not feign—"

"Too little, too late. I haven't wanted your apology for a long time now. But relax," she said, lightening her tone, "there's hope for you yet. You can make amends, start anew, right where you left off several months ago before you decided to ruin my life, by making sure I never have to see your face again."

Luxanna withdrew the wand from her sleeve and pointed it at him; his arms sprung up in defence, and he backed away a few steps, eyes darting between the end of the wand and her face. "Woah, woah, woah, alright, wait!"

With her eyes closed, she exhaled a long sigh, training her mind on the words, rehearsing their placement in her mouth…

"Hold on, Black, wait!"

"Just shut up for a moment."

"Stop! Alright, stop! What are you going to do to me?"

"Shut up."

"What are you doing? Black, what are you doing? Don't, please, don't..."

Come on, now... Dumbledore believed she could do this... Come on...

"You can't! People will find out— Please!"

"Shut up!"

"I'm sorry! Please, I'm sorry!"

"Obliviate."

A spark erupted from the tip of the wand, burnt brightly for a second, hesitating—a moment of suspended time—before it flickered away, swallowed by the damp air. A picture unravelled in her mind, a memory that did not belong to her, not yet. Visions of faces pleading for salvation, voices desperate for forgiveness, tears of sorrow, a heavy cloak of guilt giving way to lustful temptation at a distance from the light, where hope is lost, and the soul is consoled by the knowledge of sin, by the certainty of its taste and texture, and the promise of bloodshed is all the more tempting.

One day, once you've earned the right to that change, I will be there waiting for you.

He pleaded again, and Luxanna, once again betrayed by her own body and mind, relented. She flung her wand away, letting it hit the wall with the force of her anger, breathing hard. No, no, no! Why now? Why now?!

The wand ricocheted from the wall and collided with the vial on the desk, propelling it onto the ground, and landed at the foot of the wooden leg with a dull thud, its tip still smoking faintly from her last words, the embers of which were dying out. Why now, why now, why now? What now? As her thoughts tumbled forth in panicked frustration, the vial rolled across the floor and halted abruptly by the edge of her foot, extinguishing her stream of contemplation and providing her with the resolution.

Weasley began to lower his hands; a knowing look passed between the two of them as both of their eyes centred on the wand now resting in a puddle by the desk. A moment of silence, another look—and then Weasley lunged for it.

Luxanna knelt, grabbed the vial and drowned the last remnants of the potion into her mouth, then jumped to her feet and went at him.

He had seized her wand and was about to fire when she reached him. Luxanna slapped away the hand that had barred her way, held it by the wrist, to seize him by his collar as he had done to her, and pull him down to her level where she swallowed the gasp which left his throat with her own parted lips. A tongue coated in bitterness slipped from her mouth, slick with spit and speculation, the thought of which she could not stop thinking as the liquid poured forth, and as her mind slid, in quick flashes and jagged edges, to the thought of him, a picture of his face on hers formed under closed eyelids—to the next thing, her own personal disaster on top of his, to the way in which he had been so unfair to her all these months, and was now left suffering penance beneath her cold hand and her warm open lips.

It stretched on for several seconds, far longer than it should have done, when through her eyelashes she glimpsed something fleeting, an image of his face there on hers again now with the suggestion of a look in his eye that posed the same frightening question she had yet to answer— What are you doing?

She pulled away and the moment passed away into a memory.

Weasley staggered backwards, sputtering; the table screeched on the wet floor and knocked over a candle which lay on top of it into a puddle, extinguishing it. His reddened face caught the last flicker of light, peering at her from above the palm which clutched at his wounded lips.

"Agh, you kissed me," he said in surprise, then, more firmly, as though trying to make himself believe it: "You kissed me."

Luxanna rounded on him at once. "You swallowed it, right?"

"What?" he muttered underneath his breath, pulling his hand away from his lips, inspecting it.

"The potion—you swallowed the potion, I felt you swallow it."

"I'm… I… What?"

"Weasley…"

He fell silent for a moment, a dazed expression crossing his features. It's working, then… It's…

"That was… That was my first kiss," he said, his palm now curling into a fist. "Hey, that was my first kiss—you give it back right now, you slimy snake!"

"Give it b—" she reiterated with a breath of near comical astonishment, then cut herself short. "Wait, hold on, wait, you're not supposed to remember that!"

"How can I bloody not?!"

"No, no, no, the potion's not had time to take effect yet. Right. Right, we'll give it a few more minutes," she said, nodding to reassure herself, yet it did not aid her apprehension; something was dreadfully wrong.

Weasley ranted on, oblivious to the consequences at stake. "You had no right to do that, who do you think you are?!"

"Shut up for a moment."

"No! No, I don't think I will! What you did was beyond wrong, beyond unfair, beyond—"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, it was only a kiss, If even that." She paced up and down, chest thrumming in a panic.

"You had your tongue in my mouth!" he yelled, an accusatory finger pointed at her.

Luxanna sighed, picking at her own lips, at the spot where they had just kissed— Kissed? No, don't think about that now. Don't think about it ever. "Something's wrong."

"You don't say!"

"No, something's wrong with the potion," she said, inspecting the empty vial, turning it over in her hand. Her apprehension grew twice in size. "I don't understand..."

"You... you... That was my..." he sputtered, looking rather slow-wittedly at the wall, unable to think of an argument to make, while she leant against the desk with her hand cradling her forehead.

"Yes, yes, it was your first kiss, so what? It was mine, too, only I'll have to live with the memory of it forever, sadly."

"Oh, Merlin... Fred was right, he saw this coming... Shit, how am I supposed to hide this from Fred..."

"You will not tell a soul!" commanded Luxanna, straightening her posture.

"I can't believe this is happening to me..."

Luxanna rolled her eyes. Weasley spied the bottle of Butterbeer next to her and was about to grab it when she slapped his hand away. "What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

"Have you got something stronger?"

"No?" she said, plain disbelief crossing her features.

"Well then," he concluded, uncapped the bottle by the table's edge and tipped his head back.

"Weasley!" yelled Luxanna, wrenching the bottle away from him mid sip.

"What?!"

"Don't you understand?" She slammed the bottle back on the table. "You aren't supposed to remember any of this, not this conversation, not the kiss, not following me in here! In fact, you're not supposed to remember me whatsoever. The vial—it contained a Forgetfulness potion, one of the most potent in the world, a potion which you just drank."

"I don't understand," he said, wiping away the foam on his mouth with his sleeve, "you were trying to wipe my memory?"

"Yes!"

"Shit, is that what…" He dropped his voice as the realisation sunk in. "Did you pour that into everyone's drinks?"

"Yes, but it's not working!"

"I thought you were gonna bloody kill me."

"Oh, I'm starting to warm up to the idea!"

"Wait, so Fred… All of them, everyone… they all forgot about you?"

"Well, apparently not all of them," said Luxanna, waving her hand at the disconcerting presence which was him.

"Wait, wait, wait. Where did you even get such a potion, never mind the strongest one in the world?"

It was not Luxanna who answered him. At the end of the elongated hallway, Dumbledore was approaching them, his robe sliding through the murky water along behind him. "It was I who gave the potion to Miss Black," he said, voice echoing through the vast space. As he caught up to the pair of them, Dumbledore greeted both with a nod. "Good evening, Mr Weasley. Miss Black."

"Evening, sir," said Weasley with a hint of confusion. Luxanna said nothing. Dumbledore's presence in the Chamber was a strangely incomprehensible sight.

"You ought also to know, as I'm sure you're now wondering, that I supplied Miss Black with the idea. She, of course, carried out the execution, so I must give credit where credit's due. Very well done," he said with a nod of approval at Luxanna. "Although it appears that it did not produce the desired effects in your case, Mr Weasley. Desired, of course, as per Miss Black's expectations. I myself held no specific assumptions as for what might happen."

Weasley's frown deepened, and for the first time that evening it matched Luxanna's own, both of them stunned into confusion.

"How curious, indeed," said Dumbledore. "One could even go as far as to say that it makes for an interesting turn of events."

"But, professor…" began Luxanna, eyes flicking between him and Weasley, "I don't understand. It makes no sense. I did everything right."

"You have," confirmed Dumbledore, and it occurred to her that he had most likely been—once again—observing her the entire time. "And I believe you've earned yourself a well deserved good night's sleep. Mr Weasley, if you will, please come with me, and let us have a cup of tea in my office before you retire to bed."