The Name in Red **COMPLETE**

Hey everyone! Whew, finally, here is Chapter 28! I hope I am able to appease you for making you wait so long ;) Enjoy!


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The Name in Red.

Chapter 28: Truth At Last.
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The moments that followed were awkward to say the least. Breaking her kiss with Snape, Sarah blushed deeply and dropped her eyes squarely to the threads of the carpet on which she sat. When Ron had caught sight of them kissing, he had leapt to his feet, prepared to fight, while possessed with his immediate conviction that something was terribly wrong.

In the intervening moments, Ron continued to stare between the two of them, mouth agape, at a supreme loss for words. Harry contented himself with examining the ceiling panels in minute detail. Covert glances were being cast between Hermione and Ginny, as if to gauge each others' reactions; neither knew that the other had already been somewhat aware of the situation.

Meanwhile, Snape fixed a hard, cold stare to the Weasley boy, silently daring him, or anyone else, to speak out against the event they had just witnessed.

Ron did not meet Snape’s eyes. Instead, his head swiveled about the room, from Ginny, to Harry, to Hermione, and back again, shocked that none of them had so much as noticed what had just happened. Indeed, he was the only one in the room that seemed surprised.

“You two were--,” Ron spluttered, “You—- you--,”

“And so the last hippogriff finally crosses the finish line,” Snape drawled with a smirk, “Bravo.”

Ron blinked at Snape, and then resumed his searching glances around the room. Now, all of them were staring at him.

“You mean,” Ron began, quite as red in the face as his hair, “You all-—,”

“Knew?” Hermione finished for him, placing a hand on his arm and coaxing him back onto the sofa, “We’ve all known for a while, Ron,” she broke to him gently, correctly interpreting Ginny’s apparent lack of astonishment, “We just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Blimey,” Ron exhaled, leaning forward and placing his head in his hands. He now bore the distinct look of someone who had just tried to do one too many loop-de-loops on their broom. Hermione began rubbing his back gently.

Harry and Ginny, meeting each others' eyes, were both trying to suppress tiny smiles. For weeks, they had secretly imagined what Ron’s reaction might be upon hearing the news. Sarah, however, was not smiling. When she had gotten over her initial embarrassment, she looked to Ron, her expression pleading. Of all her friends, she had been the most concerned about his reaction to her involvement with Snape. He was, after all, famous for his stubbornness.

When Hermione noticed this, she gave Ron a gentle nudge. He lifted his head. Most of the color had drained from his face.

When he saw the way Sarah was looking at him, he knew he had no choice but to accept it.

“Well,” he muttered, glancing from Sarah and then to Snape, who was still glaring at him fiercely, “Cheers, I suppose,” he finished, with a halfhearted raise of his glass. He then took an enormous swig.

With this, Sarah beamed, and threw her arms around Snape’s neck. His expression softened as the girl embraced him. The tension apparently broken, Ron draped his arm around a smiling Hermione, and Harry pecked Ginny on the cheek before languidly stretching his arms over his head.

“Glad that’s over,” said Harry, yawning, “It was starting to get exhausting, pretending like nothing was going on.”

“It’s not as if you were the world’s best Secret Keeper,” Hermione teased him. She smirked as she recalled the occasion on which Harry accidentally let slip that something was going on between Sarah and Snape.

“Hey, I figured it out on my own, thank you very much!” Ginny added, laughing. Ron remained silent, continuing to look as if he had swallowed some particularly disgusting flobberworms.

“No one bothered to tell me, I suppose,” he spoke glumly.

Both Hermione and Ginny chortled.

“Honestly, Ron,” Hermione said between bouts of giggles, “You hadn’t noticed they've been bunking together?”

Ron only grumbled and trailed off in response. Now it was his turn to look thoroughly embarrassed.

With the girl’s arms still wrapped around him, Snape’s black eyes were darting about the room. It felt extremely strange for their relationship to be discussed so candidly, especially by present company. He looked a bit like a confused animal as he glanced back and forth, unable to relax completely, as everyone else finally had. Still, he felt somewhat relieved when casual conversation resumed.

He was more relaxed than he cared to admit as he lounged there on the floor next to the girl, their situation officially outed. The conversation continued for a while, but he was not listening; he merely watched how the girl’s soft skin glowed in the firelight.

The New Year’s Eve festivities continued until a loud chime of the clock alerted them that it was now one past midnight. After the chime had faded away, there was a long silence as each of them eyed their respective partners hopefully; it was New Year’s Eve, after all.

Snape broke the amorous silence with a loud clearing of his throat.

“It is quite late,” he spoke up, “Perhaps we should all retire?”

In wordless agreement, everyone rose to their feet. After much stretching, the girls began exchanging hugs and wishing each other a happy and healthy New Year, and the men grasped hands as they wished each other the same. Harry shook Snape’s hand easily, but Ron was a bit more hesitant. He shuffled nervously before extending his own hand.

“Happy New Year--, sir,” he said. The amount of time he actually spent shaking Snape’s hand was extremely brief.

Snape masked his bemusement extremely well.

“And to you,” Snape replied.

With this, Snape waved the rest of them out of the room. As Ron turned to close the door behind him, he pretended not to notice the burning look in Snape’s dark eyes as he looked to the girl.

The girl smiled up at him serenely. The corner of his mouth twisted upward slightly.

“So,” he began, and his voice had now taken on a deep, silky tone. He slowly lowered himself onto the carpet beside her. “You had quite a few drinks, this evening. I would wager that you are fairly besotted.”

Sarah snorted, trying to recall how many drinks she’d had. She had indeed found quite a weakness for the wonderful spirits produced in the wizarding world. Enough time had passed that she was now, at least, only buzzed. She began to blush as Snape loomed dangerously close to her.

“Oh yeah?” she smiled coyly, cocking her head at him, “How besotted do you think I am?”

Snape was now only inches from her. When she met his eyes, she could see the fire clearly reflected in his gaze.

“Besotted enough to not have noticed when I slipped a certain potion into your last drink,” he purred. He began gently brushing the girl’s cheek with his fingertips. Her skin was warm, and he knew that it was more than their proximity to the fireplace. He leaned ever closer to her; their lips were almost touching now.

“And what potion might that have been?” she whispered. She shuddered at his touch.

“I believe you know which,” he replied, his voice low, clearly communicating his deep desire for her. He then pressed his lips against hers, and when she smiled against him, he knew that he had her permission. He gently pushed her down to the plush carpet as his tongue gained access to her mouth, pinning her beneath him as they embraced each other, kissing deeply. As deep as he could kiss her, he could not get enough of her; she tasted as sweet as the mead she had been drinking all night, and he too drank her in like the sweetest of wines.

As his hands found their way up the girl’s body, he began to kiss and lick his way down her neck. The girl turned her head to the side, baring herself to him. When she opened her eyes slightly, she could see the door.

“The door,” she breathed, her thoughts barely coherent in her state of arousal and mild drunkenness, “Should we lock it?”

“Of course not,” he said, his hot breath against her neck, causing her to close her eyes again, “All of your friends are as busy as we are. No one will bother us.”

He knew the girl was about to voice her remaining concern, and so he silenced her with a firm caress of her chest. Instead of speaking, she gave a sigh of contentment and pleasure. When he squeezed her again, she moaned faintly. He smiled against her neck, and his entire being thrummed with satisfaction at the reactions and pleasure he could produce within her. Soon, he was pressing his lower body against her very hard.

His labored breathing caught in his throat when he felt the girl groping him through his trousers. With their heat together, combined with their proximity to the fire, he was extremely hot; when he raised himself up on his arms to look down at her, a bead of sweat slipped off the end of his long nose and dripped onto the girl’s neck.

“Don’t make me wait,” the girl pleaded with him, her slender form squirming with desire underneath his body.

He gazed down at her through the curtains of his lank, black hair, overcome with feeling for the girl who lay underneath him. She looked so beautiful lying there, her long hair strewn about the carpet wildly, with a faint sheen of sweat on her skin. Still, he could not help but notice how the firelight played oddly in her shining red eyes.

“Of course not, my love,” he spoke, and the next instant, he had torn off his robes and his shirt. Kneeling above her in only his trousers, he leaned down again. He opened her robes and she shrugged them off. Raising her arms obediently, he pushed her bra and her shirt up over her head in one swoop. When he leaned down again, he pressed his bare chest against hers. Both of them gasped at the sensation. He could not help but take advantage of her open mouth by engaging her in another deep, searing kiss.

When he finally came up for air, he knew they could wait no longer. He sat up on his knees and began groping at her Muggle jeans. She helped him to unbutton and unzip them, and when they were open, he aided her to slide them, as well as her panties, down to her feet, where she kicked them off. When he saw her lying naked beneath him, his nostrils flared in triumph, and he leaned down onto her again. He continued kissing her, and with one deftly skilled hand, he managed to both undo his trousers and extract himself. He held his throbbing manhood in his hand, poised above her. Without speaking, she spread her legs. The head of his length was immediately pressed against her core, but he could not help himself from running it up and down against her, again and again, reveling in her heat and her wetness.

The girl groaned in disapproval. He smirked.

“You said you wouldn’t make me wait,” she protested, trying to pull him into her.

Before she could utter another word, he thrust himself powerfully inside her, fully burying himself and hitting bottom in one fluid motion. The girl’s jaw fell open in a silent gasp, the indescribable feel of him being completely inside her driving all the air from her lungs. He lowered himself down again as he immediately began pushing himself into her rhythmically. When the girl arched her back, her neck was exposed to him; he bit it hard.

“No more waiting,” he growled into her ear, fully possessed by his desire. He slammed into her again and again, as deep and as hard as he possibly could. His hands gripped her shoulders tightly, and each time the girl would moan or gasp, he would bite down on her neck or shoulder, or nibble her ear. Soon she was growing quite loud, and he pressed a finger to her lips in warning.

“Remember,” he panted, “We don’t want to traumatize any of your friends. They are doing us the courtesy of keeping quiet themselves.” He grinned inwardly; he sincerely doubted the ability of Potter or the Weasley boy to make their girlfriends sing in the same way he could make the girl.

To quiet herself, she took his finger into her mouth and began to suck it hard. His heart skipped several beats. When he removed it, she bit down on her lower lip to keep herself quiet, but her gasps and soft moans were still audible to him.

Several minutes later, both of their bodies dripping passion-infused sweat, he began to feel the girl tightening around him. He doubled his efforts to drive her over the edge, and soon she was contracting around him, her vow of silence forgotten as she moaned in ecstasy. No longer able to hold on, he drove himself into her once more and rode out her rapture as the throbbed and pulsed within her, filling her completely.

What seemed like hours later, both of their bodies were limp and drained, and they lay side-by-side on the carpet before the fireplace; the fire was slowly burning itself down to glowing embers. Resting her head on his shoulder, the girl could not help but give in to slumber. Soon, his own eyes were growing heavy, and with a weak hope that none of the home’s other occupants open their door, he too drifted off to sleep.


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“And what explanation do you have for yourself?” a grim voice spoke, unsuccessfully trying to mask a great degree of anger, impatience, and annoyance.

The gaunt, violet-eyed man glanced up from his work; a yellowed piece of parchment lay unfurled on the desk before him, and the small bottle of his curious, red ink was unstoppered as he dipped a particularly sharp quill into its depths.

“I have told you before, I merely wished to test the girl’s limits,” the gaunt man explained, “To see if she is all she is reputed to be, by some,” violet eyes narrowed dangerously at the object of their gaze.

“And I assume you have ascertained this adequately?” the other voice hissed. “Need I explain myself again? Is everything clear?”

The violet-eyed man sighed, his quill beginning to scratch across the parchment.

“Perfectly clear,” he said, unable to mask his own annoyance.

“That’s right,” the other man assured himself. He wrung his hands together in a manic sort of way. “It’s not going to go wrong again.”


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After the winter holidays ended, the return to Hogwarts went smoothly. Sarah, since she had never done so before, was highly amused to ride the Hogwarts Express to the castle. She was as excited as a first year when then scarlet steam engine pulled up to Hogsmeade station, and she could see the castle’s windows glimmering like diamonds in the distance; just the way she had seen them on the night when the mysterious castle had saved her life.

The first week back at the castle had also gone fairly smoothly. Unable to invent a better solution for Sarah’s slight eye color problem, they had all decided that it was best to hide behind the veil of the fictional Occulopigmentitis; it sounded just confusing enough to deter any inquiries, and anyone who happened to ask Sarah about her strange new appearance seemed satisfied with her explanation. Luckily, her eyesight had returned to normal in the days following the incident at Archer Crescent, so she was spared the inconvenience of wearing glasses. Still, she took extra care to keep her eyes directed at the wall or the floor when she roamed the corridors during daylight hours. She did not want to invite any unnecessary suspicion.

It was now Friday morning, and Sarah, Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were all seated together in the Great Hall for breakfast. The girls were seated three across, and the boys sat opposite them on the other side of the table. Ron was yawning widely between his usual generous helpings of breakfast, and he had to pause in his eating several times to blearily rub his eyes.

“Snape’s assignment get to you?” Harry asked, reaching for the pitcher of pumpkin juice. He shot a quick glance at Sarah, who seemed unfazed by the use of the slightly callous moniker; she had apparently accepted that this was simply what they were used to calling him in casual conversation. It was a difficult habit to break.

"Iwoupanighonnih," Ron’s reply was caught up in the middle of another massive yawn. The girls sniggered. After another rub of his eyes, he started again. “I was up all night on it,” he explained, “I mean, seriously, two rolls of parchment on Chimeras and ways to fight them? I bet the git’s never even seen one in his life.” When he had finished, he looked up nervously in Sarah’s direction.

To his relief, Sarah laughed.

“I don’t blame you,” she said, smiling, “He sounds like he really piles on the homework most of the time. I’m glad I’m not in his classes, I wouldn’t know what to do with that much work.”

Harry glanced up from his meal with a sly smile, and bit his tongue in order to refrain from pulling a joke about what type of homework Snape usually gives her. He caught Ginny’s eye briefly, and she was biting her lower lip in a sort of half smile; apparently she was thinking the exact same thing. Luckily, Sarah was busy with her scrambled eggs and did not see. Hermione, however, caught sight of them, and intervened before either of them could lose their resolve to remain quiet.

“He assigned it on Monday, Ron,” she chided him, “You had all week to get it done, it didn’t have to wait until last night.”

Ron had no retort for this, and helped himself to another slice of bacon.

Suddenly, the Hall was filled with a great fluttering of wings; the post owls had arrived. During the first week after holidays, there always seemed to be a lot of them, toting packages filled with items that students had forgotten to bring back to school.

Routinely, no one so much as looked up when a sleek-looking barn owl landed on the table before them, carrying Hermione’s copy of The Daily Prophet. After she had paid the bird, it flapped its wings powerfully and took off again, noisily sending several utensils askew.

After the barn owl had departed, however, everyone looked up in surprise as a large, inky-black raven landed on their midst, clutching a piece of folded parchment firmly in its beak. For a moment, it regarded all of them. Then, it looked at Sarah, blinked, and dropped the parchment; it floated haphazardly onto Hermione’s plate. Its missive delivered, the raven took flight again. Their eyes followed it up toward the ceiling before it disappeared through the same exit that the owls had used.

When it was gone, all eyes were on the piece of parchment, lying neatly on Hermione’s toast. She slowly reached out for it, and held it gingerly, as if she were afraid it might bite her. She regarded it for a few moments before turning to Sarah.

“It’s—- it’s for you,” she said, nervously holding the piece of parchment out to the long-haired girl on her left.

Sarah quirked an eyebrow and took the parchment from Hermione. Sure enough, scrawled on its surface in thick, crimson ink, were the words Sarah Garrend. Without hesitation, Sarah unfolded the parchment and read the message inside. All of her friends were staring intently at her. A grim air seemed to settle over all of them as they watched her become extremely pale. Her jaw fell open, and she began to shake slightly.

“What?” Harry said, his tone forceful. He sat forward. “What is it?”

Without speaking, Sarah looked up at him. She looked as if she were about to be sick. With a trembling hand, she held the piece of parchment out to him. He took it quickly and held it close to his eyes as he read it.

You are to come, unescorted by anyone, invisible or otherwise, to the following address at midnight, tonight, or the family on Archer Crescent dies.

Harry did not bother to read the address that followed before he looked up at Sarah again with an expression of shock. By now, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were growing quite impatient over what had just transpired, and they leaned forward and craned their necks in an attempt to see the parchment. Ron reached out for it, and Harry did not protest; soon, it had been passed between all of them.

“I knew it couldn’t be good, I knew it would be something like this!” said Hermione. She looked to be on the verge of tears. Her eyes were glued to the parchment, and she shook her head back and forth.

“How could you have?” Harry asked. He was the one now holding the parchment. “How could you have known it was a death threat against--,” Harry paused uncomfortably. Up to this point, it had mostly been an unspoken fact. It had certainly never been discussed openly and at length. “—-against Sarah’s family?”

“It came by raven,” Hermione explained, “things that come by raven are never good.”

“How do you figure?” Ron asked. His meal, surprisingly, was forgotten, in lieu of the serious situation facing them.

Hermione took a deep breath. Harry, Ron, and Ginny all looked at her expectantly; they instinctively knew when she was about to provide an explanation of something.

“Ravens are typically only used as post carriers by witches or wizards who are--,” she paused thoughtfully, “Less than reputable. All of them are completely black. They lack the distinctive marking patterns or colors that owls have. It makes them almost impossible to trace back to their owners.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed at the parchment; he had only now bothered to read the address.

“That’s in London,” he said, a deep crease having formed between his brows, “In the same neighborhood as the Ministry, I think.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Sarah asked, her voice weak. She took a shaky breath, but before she could speak any more, Ginny spoke up.

“You’re not going alone, if that’s what you think,” she said, her tone full of conviction. She fixed a fiery stare on Sarah. “Harry’s cloak--,”

Harry shook his head back and forth quickly, and cut her off.

“You saw the letter,” he said, “They’ll know if someone comes with her underneath the cloak. If she shows up with someone, they’ll probably go ahead and kill her family.”

“What if a couple of us go to Archer Crescent before midnight?” Ron suggested, eyeing his friends hopefully, “To stop anyone coming in there?”

Hermione shook her head, and Harry knew exactly what she was thinking.

“They’ll be ready for that too,” Harry said, “I’d be willing to bet they still have someone watching the place.”

Sarah hung her head between her hands. She could see no way out of this situation, except for complying with the letter’s demands.

“I don’t have a choice, then,” she said slowly. “I’ll have to do it.”

“No,” Harry objected, “That’s not going to happen.” He looked up; most of the other students had already cleared out. Morning classes would be starting in just a few minutes. “Look,” he continued, “We’ve got to get to class. Hold on to this, and don’t do anything rash,” he said. Their benches began scraping as all of them stood up. “We’ve got all day. We’ll figure something out. Don’t worry.”

“Alright,” Sarah gave a resigned sigh, even though she could not picture any scenario in which she would not have to report to London, alone, at midnight. As they left, her friends gave her reassuring pats on her shoulders.

Soon, she was seated in the Great Hall, quite alone, her head swimming. The long House tables had long since cleared themselves of dishes. It was with great effort that she finally lifted herself off of the bench on which she sat, and began trudging her way back to the Room of Requirement.

When she reached the seventh floor, however, she was met with another surprise. As she rounded a corner, a tall boy with white-blonde hair and a pointed face popped out in front of her, almost as if he had Apparated there. He was grinning broadly, but his expression shifted to one of concern when he saw had badly he had startled the girl before him.

“Draco,” Sarah panted. She stumbled backward, her heart thundering in her ears. If anyone, she had been expecting one of the dark, mysterious, hooded figures to appear in front of her.

Draco’s arms immediately shot outward to steady her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, a hint of laughter in his voice, “I didn’t mean to frighten you like this.”

After a few moments, Sarah regained her composure, and mustered a weak smile.

“Have a good holiday?” Draco continued, taking his hands off of Sarah’s shoulders and scratching the back of his neck in a slightly awkward fashion.

Frightening visions of her mysterious, hooded attackers swam across Sarah’s mind, but she blinked them away.

“Yeah, yeah,” she supplied quickly, “It was alright, how was yours?”

“Fine, I suppose,” Draco replied, “A bit annoying, sometimes,” he said, shifting nervously. “Father's—-,” he cut himself off, searching for words, “In a bit of a mood.”

Sarah resisted the urge to ask whether or not his father was still under extensive investigation and house arrest. It was only on Harry’s word, she remembered, that his family had been spared a lifetime in Azkaban.

Sarah smiled weakly. Almost instantly, her mind was once again consumed with the words written on the letter which now rested in one of the pockets inside her robes. Draco must have noticed how pale and clammy she looked, for he tilted his head, and his brows furrowed.

“Are you alright?” he asked, regarding her carefully.

Sarah looked up, straight at Draco, whose eyes immediately widened. He had only just noticed that her eyes were bright red. With a wince, her eyes darted down to her boots.

“Occulopigmentitis,” she supplied mechanically, "Magical illness, very uncommon, causes eye color to change spontaneously, not contagious at all," she trailed off. She was very practiced at it by now.

Draco’s eyes narrowed at her; something told him that her strange new illness wasn’t entirely what was bothering her.

“Are you sure that’s all?” he asked. He then quickly glanced up and scanned the corridor behind him to be sure that they were quite alone. The last thing he wanted was for one of her Gryffindor pals to happen across them while engaged in polite conversation.

Sarah looked up again, straight into Draco’s light gray eyes; she knew how much of an effort he had made with her to turn over a new leaf. She knew she couldn’t tell him an outright lie, but she couldn’t tell him the whole truth, either.

“I’ve sort of got a problem,” Sarah explained. “And I’m not sure what to do about it.”

Draco struck a contemplative stance. His eyes drifted upward for a few moments, and then back down again.

“Well,” he said, obviously making a sincere effort to help, “The best advice I can give you, is that when I felt overwhelmed, I really wish that I had asked people for help instead of keeping it to myself, you know?”

Unbeknownst to him, Sarah knew his history. She beamed up at him, knowing that he too had wanted to tell her something without revealing the whole truth.

“That’s some pretty good advice, Draco,” she said, “Thank you.”

Draco nodded, looking satisfied with himself.

The two of them continued to chat for a short while. Sarah had managed to convinced him that she had simply gotten lost on her way to the library, and Draco gallantly obliged to escort her there. As soon as they had exchanged farewells, however, Sarah darted back up to the seventh floor and sealed herself within her room, pacing restlessly. Whatever was to happen tonight, she knew it would not be good.


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It was now nearing the end of dinner. Sarah, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were once again seated together in the Great Hall, though none of them had been able to eat a bite of food since breakfast. Instead, they had spend their entire day anguishing over what to do about the mysterious missive Sarah had received. Unfortunately, none of them had been able to come up with a definitive solution to the problem. They all sat there, pale, nervous, and shaky; Sarah’s head was resting in her hands.

“I don’t have a choice,” she voiced again, “I’ll have to go.”

She was immediately met with much head shaking and general airs of disapproval.

“You can’t,” Hermione choked out, sounding exasperated, “Who knows what they’ll do to you? You just can’t.”

Harry, lost in thought, was absently scanning the Hall around him. Their strange behavior seemed to be attracting a moderate amount of attention. A small handful of students from the different House tables were occasionally glancing in their direction.

“Come on,” he urged them, standing up as quietly as possible, “We’re looking suspicious.”

As inconspicuously as possible, all five of them excused themselves from the Gryffindor table and retreated into the dark, quiet sanctity of the castle’s entrance hall. As soon as they were all gathered, Harry spun on his heel to face them.

“We have to tell Snape,” he announced, his voice echoing a little more loudly than he would have liked. “He’ll know what to do.” This was not strictly true, but Harry had a great deal of respect for the man’s ability to deal with dangerous, complicated situations and come out intact. It had become clear to him that they needed help, and Snape was the first place to start.

When no one protested, they all marched silently toward the dungeons.


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Snape, as usual, was seated at his desk when the loud knock sounded on the worn wooden panels of his door. She must be especially eager to see me tonight, he thought with a wry smile.

“Enter,” he called.

The door creaked open, and to his surprise, it was not the girl; instead, Potter made his way into the office. He was followed by the Weasley children, the Granger girl, and finally, Sarah trailed in behind them. When all five of them stood in the threshold, he raised his eyebrows, his hands folded upon his desk.

“I do not recall agreeing to teach group lessons,” he remarked snidely, “I am afraid your friends will have to speak to me privately if they require extra help, Miss Garrend,” he finished, unable to keep himself from maintaining his formal air with the girl while in the company of others, especially in his professional office.

When his eyes came to rest on the girl, however, he became worried.

“What is the matter?” he demanded, rising from his chair. It scraped loudly against the stone floor.

Wordlessly, all of them approached the large wooden desk. Potter stepped forward, his arm outstretched; he was holding a scrap of parchment. Snape snatched it from him and unfolded it impatiently, but a sharp intake of breath failed to belie his unconcern.

“When did you get this?” he asked loudly. Strictly in force of habit, he glared at Potter.

“This morning, at breakfast,” the girl spoke up.

“It came by raven,” Hermione added, knowing that this bit of information would be of some significance.

Several moments of silence passed. Snape, gripping the parchment tightly, paced back and forth behind his desk before he addressed them again.

“We are going to the Headmistress,” he announced at last, and when Potter began to object, he added, “And Dumbledore.” He then handed the note back to the girl, who buried it in her pocket.

Leaving Snape’s dungeon office, all of them began the lengthy trek to the Headmistress’ tower. None of them spoke a word on the way. Harry’s hands groped nervously in his pockets; as soon as Sarah had received the mysterious letter at breakfast, he had been carrying the invisibility cloak with him, convinced that trouble was apt to present itself at any moment.

When they reached the gargoyle which guarded the entrance, Snape paused.

“Tabby,” he spoke clearly, and the gargoyle leapt aside, revealing the rising, spiral staircase beyond.

Reaching the door, Snape rounded on all of them. His jaw was clenched tightly as he searched for words, but Potter cut him off before he could speak.

“We’re coming in,” Harry spoke with conviction, “All of us.”

Snape exhaled sharply through his nose; he knew there could be no arguing with the boy. After an irritated glare, he turned, and knocked three times upon the door to the Headmistress’ office. When they were beckoned inside by Professor McGonagall’s voice, Snape threw the door open and marched inside purposefully, the rest of the entourage following behind him.

The office was cheerfully lit, and nothing but the blackness of night was visible beyond the room’s high windows. Many of the surrounding portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses looked slightly affronted at such a sudden intrusion so late in the evening. Professor McGonagall, already wearing her tartan dressing gown, looked up at them, thoroughly perplexed.

“My goodness, Severus,” she began, approaching the elegant wooden table on which her wizarding wireless rested. She reached out for one of its knobs, turning it so the device issued a great deal of static, and then clicked off. “Surely they can’t all have earned detention at the same time?”

“We are not here on school business, Minerva,” Snape announced, his tone serious. His eyes angled upward, and he did not fail to notice how Albus Dumbledore, sitting securely in his portrait, was regarding them with the utmost concern.

Professor McGonagall automatically glanced at Sarah.

“What has happened, Severus?” she asked earnestly.

“That is precisely what I would like to know,” Snape replied, but instead of addressing Professor McGonagall, his neck was craned upward; he was addressing Dumbledore. “Do not think for a moment that I have not seen the way you have looked at this girl, Dumbledore,” he continued, pointing an accusatory finger in Sarah’s direction, “Tell us what you know, for there are lives at stake this night.”

Dumbledore frowned at them. He had been dreading this moment, hoping that it would never come, hoping that things would work themselves out without conflict. Apparently, his hopes had been in vain. He sighed down at all of them from his portrait, a hand pushing his half moon spectacles farther up his long, crooked nose.

“In order for us to reach an understanding,” he began calmly, “I believe that you must first oblige me by telling me what you know. I can hear the news over the wireless as well as anyone, and I am lucky enough to glimpse the headlines when Minerva leaves her Prophets out on the desk. Recent events have not escaped my notice,” he finished.

Before Dumbledore had stopped speaking, his piercing blue eyes had come to rest squarely on Harry, who shifted slightly under their gaze. They still gave him the strange feeling that he was being x-rayed. With only half a moment’s hesitation, he girded himself and stepped forward, coming to stand next to Snape.

“All right, it was us, we did all of that stuff,” he rattled off, “Sarah and I were the ones who broke into the Ministry and Gringotts,” Harry admitted openly. Somehow, it felt good to admit their trespasses, like a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Unfortunately, the breath had escaped from Professor McGonagall’s lungs, and she was now clutching her chest with one hand, and struggling to support herself on the edge of her desk with the other. Harry rushed forward to steady her while Snape strode easily around the other side of the desk, grabbed the high-backed chair that rested behind it, and pushed it to where Professor McGonagall stood.

“Why would you do such things?” McGonagall asked, shocked, and shaking slightly as she lowered herself down into the chair. Her tone was more surprised and stern than it was angry. “Especially considering that you very well knew the dangers inherent in both from prior experience! And to endanger her in such a manner, Potter,” she continued, gesturing at Sarah, “That was extremely reckless of you! You are both lucky to be alive!”

“We had to, Professor,” Harry implored her, “And you have no idea how true that is, after what happened.”

Professor McGonagall remained silent, glaring expectantly at Harry.

Harry took a deep breath. With a brief glance upward to Dumbledore’s portrait, he began to explain at length, in full detail, about everything that had happened to them, from what they found in the Ministry, breaking into Gringotts, to the ambush on Archer Crescent that followed and the refuge they took at Spinner’s End, all the way up to the incident on Christmas Eve. Occasionally Snape would impatiently add a detail or two, and Sarah spoke up meekly now and then when Harry painstakingly recounted her mysterious lapses in memory, and what had happened in between.

For much of the story, Dumbledore’s eyes were closed as if he were deep in thought, trying to envision the events in his own mind. He already had a very good idea that Harry had been behind the events, be he remained quiet. He did not speak until Harry finally fell silent. When he opened his eyes again, Sarah bore the brunt of his piercing gaze.

“Your wrist, may I see it?” he asked politely.

Slowly, Sarah stepped forward. Tearing the wrappings around her right forearm, she raised it up to him. He leaned forward in his portrait and nodded slowly as he examined it.

Professor McGonagall had also leaned forward in her chair to get a better look at it. She was extremely pale; the details of what had been happening to Potter and Miss Garrend, as well as Severus’ apparent involvement with the girl, were difficult to digest.

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, though they had already heard the story once before, did not look any happier to hear it a second time. They shifted nervously where they stood, eager for answers.

Snape, meanwhile, was still glaring upward at Dumbledore’s portrait. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest. He knew the old man still had more to say.

“We only wanted to find out the truth,” Harry reiterated, still glancing pleadingly at Professor McGonagall, “I thought she deserved as much.”

“She certainly does deserve as much,” McGonagall said tersely, “But at what cost? The two of you could have--,”

“Been killed, we know,” Harry repeated tiredly. “But that’s why we’re here. More people are going to be killed tonight if we don’t do something. We didn’t know where else to turn.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes again, his expression grave. While the boy told his story, he had been piecing together in his mind a rudimentary puzzle of what might be going on, even though he lacked all of the pieces. Whoever was after the girl had already failed their objective twice, whatever that objective may be. He knew what the obvious next step might be.

“Did you receive a direct threat?” Dumbledore asked, gazing down at the girl again.

Sarah nodded. Plunging her hand into one of the outer pockets of her robes, she extracted the note she had received at breakfast. Unfolding it, she read it aloud for everyone’s benefit. Professor McGonagall gasped and clutched at her chest again. Sarah looked at the poor woman apologetically, glad that she was already sitting down. She folded the note and stowed it in her pocket once more.

Upon hearing the contents of the note again, Harry suddenly turned his wrist upward in order to look at the starry-faced watch he wore. There was still just under four hours left until midnight; plenty of time to figure something out, he assured himself.

“And the article that you stole from the Ministry’s vault at Gringotts,” Dumbledore continued, “Do you have it with you?”

Sarah blinked, and then looked to Harry. He looked momentarily surprised, but then began patting down all of the pockets in his robes. He found the parchment folded and tucked safely inside an inner pocket; he had forgotten completely that he had been carrying it around. When he had extracted it, he stepped forward. Unfolding it, he held it up to Dumbledore’s view.

Dumbledore’s expression, if possible, turned even graver. Noting the old man’s expression, Harry gave a grimace of concern, and set the parchment down on the edge of the desk, stepping back.

“Minerva, I have a favor I must ask of you,” Dumbledore said.

“What is it, Albus?” Professor McGonagall asked, raising herself out of the high-backed chair with effort.

“I need you to enter the Quill Room--,”

“But Albus, the current term is not even over yet, it can’t possibly be time to retrieve the new--,”

“As Headmistress of this school, the room will allow you entrance at any time of the year,” he spoke up, “I need you to enter the room and kindly retrieve the registry for the year of nineteen-eighty.”

Looking just as confused as every other occupant of her office, Professor McGonagall bustled her way through the door and out of sight, leaving everyone else to stew in silence. Snape continued to stare up at Dumbledore, but the old wizard did not meet his eyes.

As impatient as Severus was, much, Albus knew, would become clear in just a few moments.

Time positively crawled as they awaited Professor McGonagall’s return. Sarah stood rooted on the spot. Her head was slowly filling with a kind of buzzing, and she could feel her blood pulsing through her strongly. She felt slightly sick, as if, deep down, she somehow knew what was about to happen. Harry eyed her nervously. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, all standing very close together, did not even dare to whisper.

It felt as if a good half an hour might have passed when Professor McGonagall reappeared, holding in her arms what appeared to be a modestly-sized roll of parchment, with a long, fine-looking piece of wood at its center. She moved toward the desk, where she looked up at Dumbledore’s portrait.

“Thank you, Minerva,” Dumbledore said kindly, though his expression hadn't improved. “Now, if you would please, unroll it.”

With slightly trembling hands, Professor McGonagall gripped the very end of the roll and let the rest of it fall to the floor as it unfurled itself before their eyes. It bounced along the floor merrily as it unraveled, but half way through, the parchment split cleanly in two, almost as if someone had haphazardly attacked it with a scissor. The rest of the scroll, separated from its other half, continued to skip along the floor until it came to rest against the spindle-legged table on which Professor McGonagall’s wizarding wireless sat.

Before a word could be spoken, Harry stepped forward to retrieve the other part of the scroll. Picking it up, he unfurled it. There, written in neat black ink, were names, all of them familiar. They were the names of his friends and classmates. Even his own name was present there.

“What is this?” he asked, looking up from the parchment. He saw that Snape was no longer glaring at Dumbledore; instead, his deep, black eyes were resting on the scrap of parchment on the desk. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall had once again sank down into her high-backed chair, looking as pale and as shocked as ever.

With a sudden swoop of realization, Harry rushed forward, scroll in hand. He grabbed the piece of parchment from the desk and knelt down to where the roll of parchment had come apart. Placing the other half of the scroll on the carpet, he smoothed it out so it rested flat.

Then, shaking hands replaced the missing piece to its original home; the piece of parchment which bore Sarah’s name, as well as the Surrey address of Archer Crescent, fit perfectly into the gap. It had been torn from this very scroll.

“This is the record of births from the year of nineteen-eighty,” Dumbledore explained, “A registry of the names of each witch and wizard born during the year who would someday receive a letter to attend Hogwarts.”

“What?” Sarah breathed, her voice less than a whisper. Her feet suddenly feeling extremely heavy, she stepped forward and fell to her knees beside Harry, watching how perfectly the piece of parchment which bore her name fit into the gap. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had silently crowded in from behind in order to see.

Even Snape had moved closer, but his eyes were not on the scroll; they were on the girl. She was trembling visibly, and she had dug her fingers into the plush carpeting as if she were trying to tear it up from the floor.

Professor McGonagall was at a loss for words.

“You mean her name was there the whole time?” Ron blurted out with his usual knack for bluntness. He sounded incredulous.

“What is going on here?” Snape demanded, craning his neck upward to look at Dumbledore’s portrait. There was an angry sneer painted across his face, as if he were already placing outright blame on the old man.

Harry, regaining his presence of mind, stood up.

“Why didn’t you tell us about this?” Harry spoke, resisting the urge to shout. He was on the verge of speech for a moment before Dumbledore patiently raised a hand to silence him.

“It was only a suspicion of mine,” Dumbledore began, “It has been many years since that piece of parchment was torn from the registry scroll. Even if my suspicions were correct, I believed it best to remain silent. Some truths are better off remaining unknown.”

Harry could muster no response. He could not help but think that perhaps Dumbledore was right; maybe Sarah would have been better off never knowing that her family was alive. She certainly would have been better off without all the trouble finding out had gotten them into.

Before anyone spoke again, Sarah raised herself to her feet, but her head was hung extremely low. Her face was invisible behind the curtains of her long, straight hair. She was still trembling slightly, and her hands were clenched in fists as her sides. Harry watched her, his expression pained. Just as he had felt on the night when they had discovered her family, he could find no words to console her, no words to properly encompass the gravity of the situation.

“Who is responsible for this?” Snape demanded fiercely, pointing to the scroll. He was still glaring at Dumbledore in a way that made it clear he thought the old man was to blame somehow. He had, after all, been Headmaster of the school at the time the girl’s name had been stricken from the registry.

“Severus, perhaps it would be best for the girl to--,” Dumbledore started calmly, but was promptly cut off by Snape.

“Who?”

Dumbledore sighed sadly.

“I am afraid that, many years ago, the Ministry--,”

“The Ministry?” a voice ground out. It sounded strange; somewhere between a hiss and a growl. It took everyone a moment to realize that it had come from Sarah.

Dumbledore was the only one who was not taken aback. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Sarah spoke first.

“The Ministry did this to me?” she hissed. Her voice was almost unrecognizable. Her clenched fists were shaking at her sides as she squeezed them even tighter. Veins became etched on the backs of her hands.

“You must know the full story behind the events,” Dumbledore pressed on more loudly, making it clear how much he wanted the girl to hear everything he had to say.

Harry, however, watching Sarah’s rage steadily increasing, knew that she would have none of it; instead, he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he almost knew what was about to happen next. Instinctively, he jerked forward to seize her, but he was too late.

Sarah’s head turned suddenly in the direction of the window immediately to her left, and without hesitating, she ran toward it at a full sprint. Then, with her arms crossed protectively before her face and elbows pointed outward, she leapt straight through it with a great, shattering crash. Tall shards of glass showered down behind her.

Hermione and Ginny screamed in unison. Ron swore loudly while Professor McGonagall shot to her feet with a shriek. Only Snape and Harry seemed to remain somewhat calm, both aware of her fledgling ability at flight. They rushed forward together toward the broken window. Harry reached it first and leaned out of it slightly in order to peer downward. In the darkness, he could see Sarah’s form shrinking away from him. As she neared the edge of another tower during her descent, Harry flinched, afraid that she would strike it; instead, she deftly landed and leapt further downward.

It only took her a few seconds to leap her way down the castle’s walls. When she hit the snowy ground beneath, Harry watched, with Snape over his shoulder, as she streaked off into the night with frightening speed.

“Is she—- is she dead?” Hermione choked out. Tears were welling up in her eyes.

“No,” Snape said brusquely as he and Harry stepped away from the window.

“Where in the bloody hell is she going?” Harry asked, looking aghast at Snape.

“Where do you think she is going?” he snapped in reply.

“We have to go after her!” Harry shouted. As soon as the words had left his mouth, Ginny appeared at his side, making it clear that she was not about to be parted with him. He opened his mouth to protest, but Ginny’s glare made it clear that there would be no arguing.

Snape’s eyes were darting rapidly between all of them, assessing the situation.

“Potter, your cloak,” he said, holding out his hand.

Harry quickly pulled the invisibility cloak from inside his robes and handed it over.

“Granger, Weasley,” Snape barked, tossing the flowing cloak into Ron’s arms, “You are to go to the address written on that piece of parchment and prevent anyone from entering that house.”

Ron and Hermione, their expressions steely after receiving their orders, each nodded once before they dashed out of the office.

“You two,” Snape continued, stepping back toward the window and producing his wand from within his robes, “Hold on tight. We are going down.”

Harry and Ginny positioned themselves on either side of him as he stood before the broken window, locking arms tightly. Before they could make the leap, however, Dumbledore’s voice issued from behind them.

“Return to me, should you retrieve her,” he said, sounding incredibly tired. “The situation is far worse than any of you can possibly know.”

Snape did not deign to reply. Instead, he let himself fall forward, pulling Potter and the Weasley girl with him.

As Harry felt himself become weightless in the fall, he thought to himself that he had rarely heard Dumbledore’s voice sound so somber. He watched calmly as the ground beneath rushed up to meet them. When they grew closer to it, Snape flicked his wand, bringing them to rest safely in the snow.

“Quickly,” he commanded, sprinting in the direction of the Forbidden Forest, his robes billowing.

Harry and Ginny chased after him, moving their legs as quickly as they possibly could. It was a few moments of running before Harry realized that they were following the trail of footprints that Sarah had carved through the snow mere moments before. He did not have much time to register how widely her footprints were spaced apart; he was taking three or four strides for every one of hers. She must have been moving terribly fast.

When they reached the perimeter of the school’s grounds, they were all panting hard, sucking in lungfuls of freezing winter air. Their throats burned. Harry and Ginny locked arms with Snape once again, and before they had time to catch their breath, the air was squeezed out of them as Snape turned on the spot, pulling them into the crushing blackness.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Two uniformed men were milling about in the Atrium of the Ministry. The huge hall was darkened, most of the lights having been extinguished after normal work hours had ended. All of the other Ministry employees, save for them, had already left hours ago.

“I hate Friday nights,” one of the men groused. He was seated on an uncomfortable-looking wooden stool pressed up against the wall.

“Why’s that?” asked the other man. He was slowly pacing back and forth a few feet away, twiddling his wand in his fingers.

“Everyone else gets to knock off early, and we’re stuck here all night,” the man seated on the stool replied. He shifted his weight a little in an effort to recline against the wall; the legs of the stool creaked ominously.

“Shouldn’t have taken a job as a night watchman, then, I reckon,” the pacing man said with a slight roll of his eyes.

The man seated on the stool cleared his throat in the awkward silence that followed.

“So,” he began, “Did you hear who the Cannons made a bid for? Things might finally be looking up for them this season if the deal--,”

He was cut off by what sounded like a loud, distant explosion.

The pacing man turned on his heel in the direction of the noise. It came from the entrance area, where Ministry employees arrived at work after flushing themselves in.

“What was that?”

“Dunno,” said the other man, jumping off the stool.

The noise came again, even louder than before; the floor beneath their feet trembled slightly. Wands at the ready, both men rushed forward toward the source of the commotion.

Unfortunately, when they reached the entrance, the wall before them exploded, blasting them backward a considerable distance before they tumbled and skidded to a stop. Shakily regaining their feet, they pointed their wands directly at the huge hole in the crumbling wall. Only a crouched shadow was visible beyond the screen of smoke and dust.

“You there, drop your wand and come out with your hands above your head!” one of the men shouted. “Don’t make any sudden movements!”

“You are under arrest for destruction of Ministry property!” shouted the other.

Nothing happened. Both of the men cast quick, sideways glances at one another.

“Come out with your hands up!” one of them repeated.

Suddenly, what appeared to be a pair of glowing, scarlet eyes appeared, staring out at them from the unsettled dust and smoke. The eyes rose higher, unblinking, as the shadowy figure straightened up from the ground.

“This is your last warning! We are prepared to use force!” the other man shouted, but he was unable to mask a slight falter in his voice.

Far too rapidly for either of them to react, a swirling bolt of red light shot out from the darkness, striking one of the men squarely in the chest. With a loud yell, he was blasted backward off his feet. He flew a considerable distance before he landed hard, and did not move.

“Stupefy!” his partner yelled, retaliating as quickly as he could, but he watched in wide-eyed horror as the shadowy figure batted his spell away. Before he could act to defend himself, he too had been struck. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


When Harry’s lungs mercifully re-expanded, he doubled over slightly. His eyes searched the area around the place where they had Apparated, hoping in vain that Sarah would be there, waiting. He was unsurprised when she was nowhere in sight. He fast recognized their surroundings. They were near the entrance to the Ministry that he and Sarah had used for their heist; the Ministry had continued using the public toilets as an entrance ever since the days of heightened security under Voldemort’s regime.

Without a word, Snape took off again at a run, and Harry and Ginny struggled to keep up with him.

Harry’s exhaustion was quickly forgotten when he neared the Ministry entrance.

Instead of the inconspicuous public toilets, they found a smoking crater. Apparently being unable to flush herself in without the specialized tokens used by Ministry employees, Sarah had simply blasted her way inside. This was no small feat, Harry realized; there had to have been some pretty powerful enchantments put in place in order to keep Muggles from inadvertently winding up inside the Ministry.

“Oh no,” Ginny said, shaking her head at the damage. “What has she done?”

“I will tell you what she has done,” Snape said impatiently, “She has committed a major breach of Ministry security. This area will be swarming with Ministry personnel any moment. We must not be seen, and we need to find Sarah and get out of here, lest the Aurors find her first! Quickly!” he finished, motioning forward. He then ran full ahead into the crater and leapt, disappearing through the smoke.

After exchanging a moment nervous eye contact, Harry and Ginny followed suit.

Harry was caught off guard; after leaping into the crater, he fell a considerable distance before he hit a sort of sloping wall and tumbled the rest of the way downward. Ginny tumbled down on top of him, and they landed in a heap on the smooth, glossy floor of the Atrium. When Harry lifted his head, he could see that it was strewn with rubble. It looked as if a bomb had gone off.

Snape was already several strides ahead of them. Harry quickly jumped to his feet and helped Ginny to hers, and they began chasing after Snape once more. Harry’s heart was pounding in his ears as fear gripped him. He wasn’t sure who he was more afraid for; Sarah, or the Aurors who might try to apprehend her if he, Snape, and Ginny didn’t find her in time. He also thought of Ron and Hermione, and another jolt of fear shot through him. All he could do was pray that his cloak would keep them safe from whatever might be waiting for them at Archer Crescent.

“How do you suggest finding her?” Harry panted, jogging alongside Snape.

“Just follow the trail,” Snape said grimly.

Harry swore as a pair of uniformed Ministry personnel came into view. They were both lying prone on the glossy floor, unmoving. Harry ran over to one and knelt down to check for a pulse, and Ginny did the same.

“Still alive,” Ginny called over.

Harry nodded in reply, indicating that he too had found a pulse. A short-lived wave of relief washed over him. At least Sarah was not responsible for killing a Ministry security agent… Yet, he added morosely to himself. Snape, who hadn’t bothered to stop, was now several strides ahead of them again.

Just as Snape had said, they had quite a trail to follow. Sarah had torn and blasted her way through the Ministry’s main hall. When they came to the golden grilles before the lifts, one of them had been quite literally bent open by tremendous force, and the lift was absent. Snape approached the empty chasm and peered downward; she had blasted the lift apart, and its wreckage was lying at the bottom of the lift chamber. She must have proceeded through the lift maze on foot.

“Now what?” Harry whispered, but Snape promptly shushed him. Harry glared at him in reply.

“Listen,” Snape whispered back.

Harry leaned forward and strained his ears. Sure enough, he could hear echoes of distant rumbles and blasts echoing through the lift passage.

“Come on!” Snape said, carefully lowering himself into the passage. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he was off running again. After helping Ginny down before him, Harry followed.

Together they wound their way through the complicated maze of lift passages, turning this way and that, directing themselves toward the source of the distant sounds as they grew louder. A few times, Ginny and Harry had to lock arms with Snape again as he allowed them to ascend and descend through the passages with ease. When they finally emerged, they found another set of golden lift grilles lying twisted on the ground.

Harry could not tell which floor he was on; it might have been a floor of the Ministry that he had not been to before, or it might have been so badly damaged that he could not recognize it. There was rubble everywhere, and thick clouds of dust and smoke were hanging in the air. Harry made to rush forward into the darkness, but Snape’s arm shot out to stop him.

All three of them stood quite still, listening. From somewhere up ahead, there came another noise. It sounded like shifting rubble. Snape gave a silent nod and began to proceed forward slowly.

“Sarah?” he spoke out, his deep voice resonating. With a glance to Potter and the Weasley girl, he jerked his head forward, encouraging them.

Harry nodded once.

“Sarah? Where are you?” Harry asked aloud, squinting in an attempt to see through the dust and smoke. He began to walk forward beside Snape, with Ginny close to him.

“Are you alright?” Ginny called. She grabbed Harry’s hand with her own as they walked onward into the dust.

Up ahead, some more rubble shifted.

They pressed onward through the dust until they came to a point where it cleared; there, further down the hall, stood Sarah, her back facing them. She was standing quite still, as if she hadn’t heard them at all.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief to see that there were not any more Ministry employees lying at her feet. Ginny was the one who dared to speak first.

“Sarah, we--,”

She fell deathly silent as Sarah’s head jerked back to look over her shoulder at them. Her eyes were ablaze, glowing completely red; her face was twisted in a silent snarl.

Without speaking a word, she spun around, her hand outstretched; an arc of red light shot toward Ginny with blinding quickness.

Ginny shrieked and did not react in time. She was inches away from being struck when she felt Harry’s body slam into her, pinning her to the ground. The stunner streaked above their heads and exploded on the wall.

The girl had attacked with such speed that not even Snape had been able to react in time. Luckily, however, he flicked his wand and summoned a powerful shield charm, separating them from the girl. A second spell struck the shield with a loud clang.

“Stop it, stop it!” Harry shouted, pulling Ginny to her feet, “Protego!” he added his own shield charm to strengthen Snape’s, and Ginny mimicked him. “It’s us, it’s us!”

Sarah let out an enraged yell, and her hand shot forward again, sending a dazzling arc of yellow light toward them. It struck the shield and made a sound reminiscent of an electrical transformer exploding; the shield shrunk considerably, and bolts of residual energy shot off wildly, ricocheting off the walls, cracking and scorching tiles as they went. On the other side, Snape, Harry, and Ginny all renewed their shield charms with fervor, but Sarah continued to hack away at it powerfully. They were fighting a losing battle. Soon they would have no shield left.

“We will have to subdue her!” Snape shouted above the din, renewing his shield charm again in vain. The girl’s assault on the shield was creating a tremendous amount of noise.

“Attack her? But--,”

“Do it! Now!” Snape roared.

There was no time to think about it. A split second later, Snape’s shield broke, and the girl’s next spell was headed directly for them. Three stunners were shot back at her in retaliation. One of them struck her spell in midair, exploding in a shower of burning sparks. When the other two reached her, she deflected both of them into the walls on either side, covering herself in another screen of dust and smoke. She was momentarily out of sight before she leapt out at them again, and her fists were wreathed in flame; when she drove them into the floor like hammers, a wall of flame erupted before her, filling the hallway and crashing forward like an ocean wave.

Harry swore, and along with Ginny, began trying to shield themselves again, but when the flame reached their shields, it consumed them wholly. Snape was making incredibly complicated movements with his wand, and he shouted a word that Harry did not recognize; he suddenly felt as if someone had doused him with ice water, and when the flame advanced on them, it harmlessly passed them over. When they could see Sarah again, all three of them were dueling her in earnest.

Snape was soon fighting with the same ferocity that he had shown the vampire, and with Harry and Ginny’s aid, he began gaining ground on the girl, taking small steps forward. The girl was backpeddling, and Harry suddenly had an idea. He raised his wand with a flourish, aiming not at her, but slightly behind.

“Reducto!”

The small patch of floor behind Sarah exploded, leaving a small crater, but she was too focused on her aggressors to notice it in time. As she took another step backward, her balance was lost, and she was falling. Harry immediately followed up with a stunner, and ropes erupted from the tip of Snape’s wand. Just before both spells reached her, she slashed her hand through the air, her fingers tensed and splayed. Then, Snape’s ropes enveloped her, binding her arms to her side, and before she could hit the floor, she took a direct hit from Harry’s stunner. She was blasted back and fell hard.

Snape relentlessly continued the assault, for within moments, the powerful ropes binding the girl had burst into flame and she had sprung free; unfortunately, before she could make another move, another stunner from Snape had struck her in the back, and she hit the floor again. Even though he feared for her, Harry stunned her again for good measure, and she was blasted farther down the hall. When she tumbled to a stop, she did not move.

Sadly, there was no time for Harry to relish his success. Ginny screamed as what looked like bloody claw marks appeared on her shoulder. She fell to one knee, gripping them in pain and trying to staunch the blood. Harry, almost completely unlearned in the art of healing wounds or counteracting curses, did not know what to do aside from helping her back to her feet. The wounds did not look too serious, and time was of the essence. He knew they needed to get out as quickly as possible.

Snape, meanwhile, had rushed forward to where Sarah lay, and was binding her even tighter with more conjured ropes. When he was satisfied with his work, he knelt down and hefted her limp body into his arms.

“How are we going to get out of here?” Ginny asked timidly, her voice shaking.

Harry looked to Snape, silently asking the same question. There was no way they could possibly return to the Atrium. It would be swarming with Aurors and other Ministry personnel by now.

“The Minister’s office,” Snape announced, hurrying back in the direction of the lift. “Shacklebolt’s fireplace will be connected to the Floo network, and the Minister has the proper clearance to come and go as he pleases.”

With an arm around Ginny, Harry turned about and headed for the lift. When he reached it, he pushed the lift button several times, hoping that nothing would prevent a new lift from showing up. Mercifully, within seconds, a new lift clanged into view. Before it had even come to a stop, they all clambered into it, and Snape punched the appropriate button. The lift jerked powerfully and came to life again, and the thoroughly damaged hallway in which they had been disappeared from their sight.

“Whose fireplace will we exit from?” Harry asked, tapping his foot impatiently. Now that they had Sarah, he was once again gripped by the fear of what would happen if they were caught.

“Mine,” Snape explained, “Dumbledore secretly connected my fireplace at Hogwarts to the network. My duties very frequently called for me to leave the castle at a moment’s notice, and it was best for me to not be seen coming and going.”

When the lift came to a stop and the golden grilles before them slid open, Snape sprang out of it, running as fast as he could while carrying the girl in his arms. Harry and Ginny trailed after him, neither of them knowing the way to the Minister’s office. Soon they reached a very wide hallway with arched ceilings. At the end of it was an ornate wooden door with a golden plaque.

“Take her,” Snape commanded when they reached the door. He dumped the girl’s limp form into Harry’s outstretched arms.

Harry’s legs trembled slightly. He hadn’t realized until now just how much the fight had exhausted him.

Snape set to work on the door, dispelling any protective enchantments he could find. When he was finished, he attempted to turn the handle, but it would not budge. Waving Harry and Ginny to stand back, he simply blasted the door open with tremendous force. They were in a hurry, after all.

The door open, Snape took the girl from Harry’s arms and went inside.

Harry had no time to appreciate or admire the sight of the Minister’s office. Instead, he rushed over to the fireplace. Sure enough, there was a small bag of Floo powder resting on the mantle. Sincerely hoping that Snape knew what he was doing, Harry was the first to take a handful of it, pitch it into the hearth, and step into the green flames. Seconds later, he was transported, along with his companions, to the safety of Hogwarts.


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For Harry, the next few hours were a complete blur. Upon arriving back at the castle, they immediately rushed up to the hospital wing. Then, after leaving Sarah, as well as an irate Ginny in the expert care of Madam Pomfrey, he and Snape traveled together to Archer Crescent to support Ron and Hermione. By some miracle, they found the Muggle neighborhood to be completely quiet and absent of wizards or witches aside from themselves. Nevertheless, they continued to stake out the location for two hours past midnight. While there, Harry recounted the events that had taken place at the Ministry in whispers.

At two hours past midnight, Harry stifled a yawn. He, Ron, and Hermione were all sitting huddled closely together on the cement Muggle sidewalk, under the cloak. Snape had disillusioned himself and was leaning against a nearby tree, completely invisible except for when he made small movements. Even then, he would only appear as some slightly distorted air, like a heat mirage.

“Strange,” Ron whispered, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “We should have seen some action by now, I expect.”

“Maybe they were bluffing?” Hermione suggested, cupping her own hands and breathing into them. “Or maybe they sent a scout who sensed us here, and they didn’t want to fight?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Ron said. “What’s the point of murdering helpless Muggles if you have to fight for it,” he added gloomily.

Harry remained silent, deep in thought. He was almost certain that whomever sent Sarah that letter hadn’t been bluffing, but he could think of no good reason why someone hadn’t shown up on Archer Crescent by now in order to make good on their threat. He almost wished that someone had shown up to try and assault the household. Then they could have at least sent them packing, and felt confident enough to leave.

Harry was interrupted from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps on pavement; Snape had lifted the disillusionment on himself and was now waving his wand in complicated patterns over the home, casting protective charms, and other spells which Harry did not recognize. When he was finished, he approached the spot where he knew Harry and the others were sitting.

“I think we have done enough for one night,” he said, glancing back in the direction of the house, “If I have done it correctly, I should be alerted in the event that someone attempts to penetrate my protective charms here.”

Harry gave a relieved sigh and stood up, whipping the cloak off, and stretching gratefully.

“How so?” asked Hermione, who was being helped to her feet by Ron.

“My wand,” Snape explained, raising his wand to their view before he stowed it away inside his robes, “If my spells here are tampered with, it will grow hot. Shall we?” he finished, turning on the spot, vanishing with a crack. He was obviously in a hurry.

Harry could see as much when he, Ron, and Hermione had Apparated after him, and followed as his long-legged strides carried him swiftly back up to the castle. Surprisingly, he was waiting for them in the entrance hall when they finally caught up to him.

“All three of you need to report to the hospital wing immediately,” he told them, his tone authoritative.

“But--,”

“I am sure Miss Weasley will be eager to know that you are safe,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. He obviously was not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.

“We’re fine, we don’t need to go to--,”

“Really?” Snape snarked, raising his eyebrows, “Madam Pomfrey would insist you see her if she knew that you,” his glare focused on Harry, “Were involved in the same life-or-death duel which injured Miss Weasley, and you two,” his eyes shifted to rest on Ron and Hermione, “Have been sitting out in the cold for the past several hours.”

Harry did not protest again. He knew that, should Snape alert Madam Pomfrey to these facts, the witch would drag them bodily to the hospital wing before she allowed them to do anything else.

“Now go,” Snape commanded, waving them off. When they had reluctantly trudged away, he swept off as quickly as he could, sprinting up staircases and dashing through corridors until, for the second time that night, he reached the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmistress' tower. He shouted the password at it and climbed the spiral staircase with haste. When he reached the door above, he burst through it without bothering to knock.

He found the Headmistress’ office still brightly illuminated. Professor McGonagall was still awake; she had apparently been awaiting his return. She had been able to occupy herself for a short while by repairing the tall window which the girl had broken, but now she was seated behind her desk, restlessly sipping a cup of tea which had grown cold long ago. When he had burst into the room, she leapt to her feet in surprise.

“Severus, what--,” she began, but it immediately became clear that Snape was not listening. He had eyes only for the silver-bearded man seated in the portrait hanging above the desk.

“Tell me what is wrong with her, Dumbledore!” he demanded, “She went berserk again tonight. She attacked us. Potter and Miss Weasley would most likely be dead had I not been there.”

Dumbledore sighed sadly and motioned to the chair before the large desk which had once belonged to him. Professor McGonagall had seated herself again, and was watching Snape expectantly.

“Please sit down, Severus,” Dumbledore requested kindly, “And I will tell you everything I know, and everything that I suspect, about the girl.”

Reluctantly, Snape took the chair. As soon as he was seated, Dumbledore looked unflinchingly into his harsh glare, and began to speak.

“Do you know why witches and wizards are able to perform magic, Severus?”

Snape did not deign to reply, even though he was unsure of the true answer.

“In time immemorial, the original users of magic were ancient magical beings and creatures. To make an incredibly long story a very short one, bloodlines mix, and human beings were granted the gift of magic.”

Snape continued to stare up at the old man; he could not see where this was going.

“The magic possessed by humans is, for this reason, diluted,” Dumbledore went on, “All witches and wizards are born with the ability to draw into their bodies the magical energy which exists all around us, but wandless magic, for most, is extremely limited, and difficult to perform. In order to focus, amplify, and bend their magic to their will properly, witches and wizards borrow bits and pieces from these original users of magic, in the form of wands. Wands are the instruments through which humans are able to channel and utilize their magic.”

Dumbledore paused briefly.

“Once in every great while,” he continued, “A witch or wizard is born whose innate connection to magical energy is unnaturally strong, and the phenomenon is recorded in a peculiar way,” he said, motioning downward to the scroll, and its missing piece, which Professor McGonagall had neatly arranged across the desk, “The quills and scrolls, enchanted to serve as registries for the births of witches and wizards, such as the same used by Hogwarts. When one of these witches or wizards is born, the quill scribes their name in red ink.”

Snape was now sitting up straight in his chair, and his glare had faded. His eyes were now resting on the scroll, on the neat red letters which spelled out the girl’s name and address.

“Many years ago, shortly before the first downfall of Voldemort, the Ministry became aware of this phenomenon,” Dumbledore said, “It was most interesting to them, for in recent history, aside from my own name a century previously, the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle had also been scribed in red ink upon the registry. Then, following Voldemort’s downfall, they demanded access to the registry scrolls. When they found that another name had been scribed in red ink, scarcely a year prior, they panicked.”

Snape’s face was now ashen. He had risen from his chair, and he was shaking his head back and forth in denial.

“I tried to prevent it happening,” Dumbledore went on. He had closed his eyes and hung his head slightly; he was obviously ashamed that he had not been successful in his attempt to do so. “But I was helpless to do so. Voldemort had seemingly been vanquished, and in his wake, certain forces within the Ministry were eager to eliminate the threat of, what seemed to them, may be a new Dark Lord.”

“Unfortunately, everything played directly into their hands. Had the girl been born into a prominent magical family, they would have had no chance of removing her; but the girl was Muggleborn. They went to the address scribed on the registry, removed the infant, modified the memories of the Muggles there so that they would completely forget they ever had a daughter, and quietly and neatly swept the entire incident under the rug. All records of the girl’s existence were erased, and she was shipped off to the middle of nowhere, far, far away from any magical community.”

“How, then, did the girl end up right back where the Ministry didn’t want her?” Snape asked, clearly outraged.

“This is where I must enter into guesswork,” Dumbledore continued, “Based on everything I have heard, it is my belief that, for some time, the Ministry kept an eye on the girl. Their primary concern must have been to make sure she did not make any contact with the magical community, but they were also present to tidy up her incident of uncontrolled juvenile magic. By then, however, Voldemort’s long absence had lulled them into a false sense of security, and becoming satisfied that the girl would never make contact with the magical world, they must have called off the job, and forgotten about her.”

“As to how she came to be at Hogwarts, however, I haven’t the foggiest, but I would hazard a guess that it is not entirely unrelated to the unfortunate incidents which have been plaguing her.”

Snape nodded once, solemnly. He was not entirely sure that he wanted to hear the answer to the question he was about to ask.

“What is wrong with her, Dumbledore?”

“The Ministry has unwittingly done a great evil to her, far beyond that of removing her from her rightful place in the world, or robbing her of a childhood with her family,” Dumbledore pressed on, “From a very young age, witches and wizards are taught to control their magic, but there was no such education for the girl. Her strong innate connection to magic has allowed her skills to progress a tremendous amount in a very short period of time, but there can be no replacement for years of learning to control one’s magic.”

“What are you saying?” Snape asked, making a sincere effort to keep his voice from shaking.

“The consequences of her strong connection to magic, combined with her inability to fully control it, are disastrous. When she is in great duress, her body, just like a wand, becomes the very conduit through which her magic flows, and instead of controlling her magic, her magic quite literally controls her. The process is no doubt sped up when her wand is discarded or lost, and I suspect that she may unconsciously discard her wand when she is in great danger, finding it limiting to her power. The enormous amount of energy she draws inside her lacks a proper channel through which to flow out, and so it consumes her. This is what you saw tonight, and as you have already seen, this process is damaging her body, as manifest in her eyes, and the mark on her wrist.”

Dumbledore took a deep, steadying breath before he continued on.

“I fear that repeated instances of this transformation will result in permanent damage to her body, her mind, and eventually, her soul.”

Snape suddenly felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. All of the air was lost from his lungs, and several drawn out moments of silence passed before he was able to muster speech.

"Most humans have very little appreciation for the subtleties of magic," Dumbledore went on, "They do not understand that magic is not easily tamed; when it can, it will run rampant, and many witches and wizards, in their arrogance and disregard for its power, have destroyed themselves. When magic flows untamed into the girl, it acts of its own accord, and desires only destruction. In a very interesting way, it is alive."

“So--,” he began, and he barely recognized his own voice. It was rare that he had heard himself speak out of such deep concern. It sounded hollow, and pained. “She is—- she is dying.”

“I never said that the girl was dying, Severus,” Dumbledore cautioned him, “Merely that she is in danger. If she continues allowing her magic to consume her, something terrible is sure to come of it.”

“What can be done for her?” Snape asked, and his voice was full of conviction.

“As to an immediate action to take, I am unsure,” Dumbledore replied, “The girl’s case is almost unprecedented. For the time being, I can only suggest that she be kept well out of harm’s way, and that she never be without her wand. She must learn to control her magic.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Dumbledore sighed.

“I am not sure, Severus,” Dumbledore said. Inside his portrait, he lowered his head slightly and gripped the bridge of his long, crooked nose between his fingers. “Her mind may break from the strain, leaving her as nothing more than a thoughtless vessel of wild magic, and she will not stop rampaging until she is killed, or her soul may be overwhelmed and become unstable, and I do not pretend to know the havoc that would wreak upon a living person.”

Snape dropped his eyes to the floor. He was feeling a deeply uncomfortable mixture of frustration, anger, guilt, and fear. He had been the one primarily responsible for teaching the girl magic thus far, yet she had not learned to control her magic properly. Now her life was at risk, not to mention her soul.

“Do not blame yourself, Severus,” Dumbledore said softly, as perceptive as ever, “There is no amount of educational prowess that could undo such a great amount of damage in such a short period of time. If anything, I would be willing to wager that you have done much to set her on the right course.”

Snape did not speak; he merely gave a stiff nod. Then, for the first time since he entered the office, he looked to Professor McGonagall. She was quite pale, and as she stared back at him from across the huge desk, she looked incredibly small and frail.

“It is very late, Minerva,” Snape said, his eyes on the floor again, “I suggest you retire.” Then, without speaking another word, he spun on his heel and strode out of the office, leaving nothing but stony silence behind him.

He then began slowly drifting through the long, darkened corridors of the castle, trying to digest everything he had heard. As he walked along, he attempted to delay his journey to the hospital wing as much as he could; it would take quite a while to find the right words with which to tell the girl that her own magic was destroying her.


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A/N: There you have Chapter 28! I hope you enjoyed it. As it is one of the longer chapters in the story (I think maybe even the longest so far), it obviously took me quite a while to write.

As you can see, I took some minor liberties in explaining some of the aspects of the nature of magic, but I believe them to be plausible (if not true) based on canon. I also tried to expand slightly on how the registry might work at Hogwarts; JKR never actually told us many details about it. I assume that, in the case of a Muggleborn witch or wizard being recorded on it, their Muggle address would be written down as well, so the school would know where to call on them when the time comes.

As always, thank you so much for reading. I really hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please leave me a review if you would be so kind! Getting some good feedback would definitely help spur me onward to get Chapter 29 out as soon as possible.

Stay tuned!