A Chance You Only Get Once

Chapter Five
In Her Mother's Place

The grand house was decked out to the nines for Christmas. It was obvious from just a quick glance around the foyer which of the decorations were the work of Jerome Fletcher and which were the work of his wife. Mr Fletcher's additions to the decorations ranged from ornate, over-large false Christmas wreaths and draping strings of evergreen tied off with gold bows to delicate crystal icicles that hung from the chandelier, but all were designed to impress. They favored gold and silver of the finest quality and nothing that would leave harsh pine needles sprinkling the floor. Mrs Fletcher's decorations, in sharp contrast, favored warm reds and the bright green so seldom used in refined designer decorations. She was the one who playfully placed mistletoe over the doors (there was really only one sprig of mistletoe but it seemed to migrate sometimes even several times during the course of a single day). In fact, all of her decorations had something odd about them. Or at least, not quite what you would expect. They could never be said to be doing anything wrong or even abnormal, but they never seemed to be quite what they ought. Most found it amusing, however vaguelly they were aware of it. Some found it unnerving and avoided the Fletcher Mansion during the Christmas Holidays.

One would have thought that it would have created a horrible clash, these two quite different purposes and styles of bringing Christmas cheer to the house, but instead it presented a house that seemed far more complete. The two supposedly opposing designers turned out to complement eachother instead. The Fletcher Mansion at Christmastime was a personification of their marriage.

The comparison broke down when their daughter began to contribute homemade ornaments, mostly of her mother's variety but occassionally an obvious attempt to imitate something her father had purchased for the house. These ornaments were destined for the small Charlie Brown Christmas tree in the kitchen. This was a gross misrepresentation of the Fletchers' devotion to their only daughter. Mrs Fletcher devoted her entire life to the precious creature and even Mr Fletcher, who even then possessed work-aholic tendencies, was infamous at the office for dropping everything to rush to the aid of or to witness a triumph of his daughter's.

In a fashionable neighborhood of gossips, political marriages, and business tycoons, the Fletchers were a poster family for old-fashioned family values and a simple, loving homelife. Mr and Mrs Fletcher were still as desperately in love as they had been when they had first married, living in a small flat in one of the worser neighborhoods, and it was not hard to decide that the young parents loved their daughter even more than they loved eachother.

Mrs Jerome Fletcher, whom even her most recent acquaintances knew as "dear Livy", was a tall, stunning woman with a regal quality about her. Even at nearly eight months pregnant she was always known to be up and about, never seeming to have lost her natural grace. She would not permit Jerome to talk her out of attending the Christmas Eve Mass for a trifling thing like the inconvenience that it would pose to her. Her long brown hair was done up expertly and her clothes, accomodating for her bulging stomache, were both expensive and stylish. She was sweeping down the stairs with an ease that few women could manage at the best of times.

All this would have made her a rare person in any circle, particularly the one she frequented. What made her unique was the she was sweeping down the stairs humming "Up On a Housetop" as her bright blue eyes scanned the foyer excitedly.

"Out jumps good old Santa Claus!" Jerome Fletcher sang out, coming up behind her and putting his arms around her, both their hands resting protectively over her belly. Sally laughed, a gay and careless laugh that had touched many a heart.

She turned to face her husband, still in his arms, and sang softly, "I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus," her husband grinned at her. "Underneath the mistletoe last night. . ." She kissed him. "Now go get ready, I'll find Olivia."

Jerome Fletcher's eyes sparkled as he looked down on his wife. "As you say, General!" he replied smartly, turning to head back up the stairs. He paused at the top, gazing down at her lovingly but worriedly, "General?" she turned to face him, "How's our next baby?"

"No worse that five seconds ago, Jerome Fletcher, honestly!" she laughed up at him, shaking her head. "Stop worrying, will you? How many times has the doctor told you? There's no reason to believe the birth will be as bad as Olivia's was. And besides, wasn't she worth it the little darling?"

"Yes, dear, you know best, dear," Mr Fletcher intoned. "No more arguments, General."

"Don't be sarcastic when you say that, Jerome Fletcher!" she called after his retreating back, still laughing. Then she turned and continued down the stairs. "Now where, oh where can Olivia be?" she called playfully in mock wonder.

There was an unmistakable giggle from behind the Christmas tree. "Hmmm. . ." Mrs Fletcher said, walking slowly toward. "I don't know where she could have gone!" Then, with reflexes to rival Quidditch stars, she faked going one way around the tree and caught her daughter running around the other way. "Here she is!" she cried as she closed her arms around her.

"Are we gonna get baby now, Mummie?" the girl, who looked like a miniature version of her mother except for her hair, squealed excitedly, immediately forgetting that a moment ago she hadn't wanted to be caught.

"No, darling, not yet," Mrs Fletcher laughed, it coming to her as easily as to her six year old daughter.

"Soon?" she demanded, her hands on her hips.

Mrs Fletcher laughed again "Yes, darling, soon, soon," she cooed, kneeling to look her in the eye. "But it's Christmas now and we're going to church. We need to get you ready, darling." Then Mrs Fletcher tried to stand, "tried" being the opporative word. Crying out in pain, she collapsed back down.

"Mummie! Are you hurt?" the girl cried, obviously distressed. "Did you get a bubu? Want me to kiss and make it better?"

"No, darling, go get your father, hurry," Mrs Olivia Fletcher said, biting back a groan until her daughter was up the stairs and out of earshot. Livy had lied to her husband. Everything was not all right, but she knew that there was nothing a Muggle doctor could do for her. She had been lucky the first time. Her hands found the small six-inch stick of wood that was her beloved wand. She wondered anew if Mr Ollivander had understood all those years ago that she would someday have to hide it. He looked as if he had. But she never thought that it would be her husband that she had to hide it from.

She had tried to tell him once. She ended up putting a memory charm on him to make him forget it, hating how it changed the way he acted around her. It was the last magic that she ever performed in his presence. She had been happy; she couldn't complain. She would have wanted to be a housewife and mother anyway. Why not do it the Muggle way? She hadn't performed a single spell in years. But when she found out she was pregnant again, she started carrying her wand with her again. She had known how dangerous it would be for both her and her son. She remembered one spell, one spell that she knew she must say when she felt that pain in her stomache, the one that meant that all was not well. It was worse than it had been with Olivia. Far worse. There was no coming back from this feeling. And what was more, Livy Fletcher knew it.

"You'll make it, Gus, I promise you. You'll make it through. Just hold on a little longer," she whispered to her abdomen. "I love you." She took her wand in her shaking hands, a feeling of warmth spreading to the tips of her fingers just as it always had ever since she had gotten it. It was a comfort she had long forgotten, and would never feel again. "Dio e col mio bambino per posso non," she whispered, waving her wand at her belly. "Jerome!" she shouted, feeling its effects immediately. "Olivia! Come quickly!"

Her daughter reached her first, flying down the stairs with no regard for the perils of gravity. She seemed to understand that her mother was in danger, even if she did not understand from what. Or perhaps it was the panic in her mother's voice that stirred in her small heart. "Oh, my darling," she cried, taking her child in her arms. "Oh my babies, I love you. I love you."

Jerome Fletcher took in his wife's limp arms as they tried to reach for him and their daughter, the dullness in her sparkling eyes, and he also knew. As he knelt over her, the look in his eyes told her that he understood as much as he ever could. He bent down beside them, enfolding both his wife and his daughter into his arms, holding both of them for the last time. Ten minutes later, Mrs Olivia Fletcher was at a Muggle hospital. She never returned. The sparkle, so like the one in her daughter's eyes, went out of the gray eyes of Jerome Fletcher that day. And it never returned.

* * *

"Let go of me, Karkaroff!" Marissa shouted, shrugging him off. "Geroff!" she shouted as he grabbed her arm again. "Let go of me!"

"Marissa Fletcher!" the last voice Marissa wanted to hear said sharply. Marissa turned to Professor McGonagall, who looked as if any moment the sparks would start to fly she was so furious. "Do you have any idea what it is you have done?" she said, looking at her in disbelief, staring her down. Marissa wished she could be more composed, but Karkaroff had her arm in a vice-like grip and was holding it up higher than she would have liked, forcing her into an awkward posture.

"Now really, Karkaroff, there's no need for that," Remus said, striding quickly forward. "Let her go."

"Mr Lupin!" Professor McGonagall cried sharply. Karkaroff had no sooner smirked at him than she shouted, "Mr Karkaroff, both of you!" They turned sharply to face her. Marissa was staring down at the ground. "Leave us. Miss Fletcher and I have much to discuss."

Marissa jerked her arm out of Karkaroff's grasp, glaring at him momentarily before sitting down in the chair in McGonagall's office. The moment the door closed behind the two boys, McGonagall snapped, "On your feet."

Marissa stood without protest, not looking up. "Look at me," she said forcefully. Marissa did not look up immediately. "Look at me," she said angrily. Marissa met her eyes. "I want to hear from you." There was silence for a moment. "I want to hear from the girl I made prefect of Gryffindor House that she not only broke fifty of the most sacred school rules, but that she broke Wizard and Muggle Law!"

"Professor McGonagall I - " Marissa started, bowing her head again.

"I don't want to hear a word of excuses! Do you have any idea what you did to your father?" Marissa's head jerked up. "Oh, didn't you think what this little game you and your brother were playing would do to him? He's been worried sick, calling policemen and offering rewards! He's contacted Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic asking for help because of your status! The man who raised you, Marissa, is this how you repay him?"

"He. . .he was looking for Gus?" Marissa's tentative voice said softly.

"Yes, you ungrateful little - how could you do this? How could you, Marissa?" McGonagall yelled at her. "A model student for five years! A prefect! You were so responsible! I never dreamed you would do anything so stupid and selfish and utterly irresponsible!"

"I believe that's quite enough, Minerva," Dumbledore said, entering the classroom. Marissa, who had been hanging her head under Professor McGonagall's fire, felt like she wanted to sink through the ground. Tears were stinging at her eyes. "Come with me, Miss Fletcher. There's someone in my office with whom it's high time you spoke."

Staring glumly at her feet, trying not to cry, Marissa shuffled after Dumbledore feeling like a prisoner on her way to execution. It was a very long walk to Dumbledore's office, and both were silent the entire way as their footsteps echoed loudly and sinisterly in the empty corridors.

Dumbledore hadn't so much as looked at her since he came to get her in McGonagall's office. His silence was worse than McGonagall's screaming. Worst of all, he whispered his password to the gargoyle, as if to indicate that she would not long be a prefect with that privilege.

They rode up the winding staircase in silence, but just before they reached the door he turned to look at her. This was worse than anything yet, even the thought of Gus going back to him. He looked down at her for a long moment until Marissa was sure that he was going to say something. Instead, he just opened the door to his office and waved her inside.

"Have a seat, Miss Fletcher," Dumbledore said, not unkindly. However, there was a disappointed tone in his voice that was far worse. Marissa did so, willing herself to sit up straight and not hang her head. Dumbledore sat down in his chair and turned to regard the young woman before him. There was no doubt that she was different from any other that he had ever seen in this office, or even this school. Even her mother. Dumbledore remembered her mother; she had Marissa's hopefulness without her burdens. Even so, the laughing eyes of Olivia Nelson were unmistakable in her daughter.

They were looking back at him almost proudly, forgetting the shame that she had worn on her face a moment ago. Marissa was the sort who could be strong for others sooner than she could be strong for herself. She was one girl that Dumbledore most wanted to believe would never do something like this unless there was some colossal misunderstanding. And, from his conversation with Jerome Fletcher, there probably had been. "Yestereday afternoon," he began sternly, "you brought a very strange patient to Madam Pomfrey."

"Gus isn't strange," Marissa said automatically.

"So I do not miss my guess," Dumbledore said quietly. "We have all been quite preoccupied about the whereabouts of your brother.

"Yet none of you thought to tell me he was missing," Marissa said angrily, knowing it was insane.

Unless she was much mistaken, some of the twinkle was back (briefly) in Dumbledore's eyes at her comment. "Your father was of the opinion that Gus's well-being was of little matter to you, the same opinion that you appear to have of him," Dumbledore said calmly. "But you have both proved eachother wrong, you see?"

"No," Marissa said harshly. "With all due respect, Professor, all this proves is that my father cares about what it would look like if he didn't look for his son. I know you like to think the best of people, but - "

"I have known you to be guilty of this same fault and virtue, Miss Fletcher," Dumbledore said pointedly. "But now you have given up hope on the one person that I most hoped you would find it in your heart to trust. Tell me, did you father ever harm you or Mundungus?"

"Not physically, if that's what you mean," Marissa said regretfully. "He didn't have to," she added quickly as if this would make it more believable.

"I see. So there was never any physical abuse of you or your brother?" Dumbledore asked, momentarily sounding like an inquisitor rather than a kindly headmaster.

"No, Professor, he never hit us," Marissa said quietly and quickly as if this would make it less noticeable.

"I see," Dumbledore said again, "In that case, neither of you have grounds to appeal to Hogwarts as a Haven. I'm afraid under wizarding law he has committed no abuse, certainly not to the extent that your brother would have to be removed. As such, I'm afraid that your brother cannot remain at Hogwarts."

"I understand, Professor," Marissa replied in a very different voice, a strong one. She stood, "I thank you for all your kindess over the years. I doubt that I'll be seeing you again after we've left the school."

"Sit down, Miss Fletcher," he said, his voice low but quite serious.

"Goodbye Professor Dumbledore," Marissa said, extending her wand to the wizard.

"Sit down, Miss Fletcher," he repeated, and this time his voice held anger. Marissa, seeing that he was not going to take her wand, dropped it onto the floor of his office and walked to the door. The moment she put her hand on the knob, however, she lept back with a cry of surprise and pain. The next moment her wand rose off the floor and hovered near her chair as if waiting. Marissa looked back at Dumbledore who was regarding her calmly. Apparently, wandless magic did not require great emotion from him. Or perhaps he was very angry indeed about her decision. "Have a seat, Miss Fletcher."

For almost a full minute, they stared eachother down, Marissa all but glaring at him and Dumbledore looking back calmly. Then Marissa walked slowly back to the chair in front of his desk and threw herself down into it. She looked at the wand for a very long moment, then looked at Dumbledore without taking it. It remained there in midair, both apparently determined to ignore it for the present. "You can't stop me from leaving Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore."

"Perhaps not, but I can prevent you from taking a minor child with you. In fact, as a minor yourself you have no claim to Mundungus or emancipation from your father at all, particularly if you cannot prove your father unfit which, without proof of abuse, will be quite nearly impossible. I'm afraid, Miss Fletcher, that if you leave Hogwarts, you will leave it alone."

Marissa stared at Dumbledore for the first time in real anger. Dumbledore calmly met her eyes. "I won't leave Gus to that man," she said through clenched teeth.

"It is very lucky, Miss Fletcher, that you are still a student of my school, for I am afraid that you have much to learn," Dumbledore said with infuriating calm. "As I told you in Professor McGonagall's office, there is someone with whom you have not truly spoken in many years. He is here today and wishes to speak with you about Mundungus's welfare when he returns to his house."

"I don't want to hear what he has to say," Marissa said hostilely.

"I suggest that you do anyway, Miss Fletcher," Dumbledore countered. "Sometimes the things we do not want turn out to be for the best. And as I hope I have made clear, you have no choice in the matter of where Mundungus is to live. As such I thought you would appreciate any and all insights into what is in store for your brother."

Marissa glared at him for a moment, then snatched her wand out of the air and jabbed it forcefully into her pocket. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the carpet. "I appreciate your open-mindedness, Olivia."

Marissa jerked her head upward, staring at Dumbledore in shock. "Do you remember when you were called by that name?" another man's voice came from behind her. Marissa refused to look. Dumbledore acknowledged him and waved his wand to create a second chair for him next to his daughter. "It's probably a vague memory to you now."

"Why would it be? Mum's not a vague memory," Marissa said tightly, staring pointedly at the corner of Dumbledore's desk.

"Not for me either," Jerome Fletcher said softly. "You're not still mad about the name, are you?"

"Why would I be?" Marissa asked sarcastically. "First I lost my mother. Then my father. Then, just to add insult to injury, I lose my name too. I'm left to raise my new baby brother myself while struggling with confusion for who I am now. But why would I be angry about that?"

"We named you for her. Don't you understand? I couldn't bear to call you by her name."

"You couldn't bear to call me by my name? You called her General!" Marissa said, at last turning to look at him in her anger. "Or did you think that I forgot that? And your mother is dead; why can you bear for me to go by her name?"

"Ol - Oliv. . ." Mr Fletcher tried to call her.

"Oh don't strain yourself," she snapped at him. "Marissa's who I am now. You know, it even fits. I was a different person before she died and so were you."

"You're right, Marissa," Mr Fletcher said quietly. "Everything would have been different if she had lived. You're right to say you lost your father too. She was the most wonderful mother. It was like I told myself, 'No matter what I do, you got the shaft when it came to parents.' It's how I justified pulling away from you and Mundungus. But even if I were father of the year it wouldn't have been what you should have had, what you would have had if she hadn't died."

"That's no excuse," Marissa muttered. "There's no excuse for what you did."

"Marissa - "

"NO!" she shouted, turning back to stare at him as she cried, "I could ascribe changing my name and even Gus's birthday to eccentric grieving, but to turn away from us! You abandoned us! You left me, at six years old, with nobody! Nobody but a baby that nobody seemed to want to be around - just like me! Everyone saying that Mum died to have Gus, everyone going on and on about it until I wanted to scream that it wasn't his fault! I wanted to scream it at her friends, and the priests at her funeral, but mostly I wanted to scream it at you! Now, years later you take every chance you get to tear us down, to try and make us feel as badly as you do. Well guess what? I already do! Miracle of miracles, Gus and I actually made it; we had half a shot at being halfway normal, then you come along and ruin it again because you don't seem to think we're in proper mourning. Well I have news for you, I miss her too!" Marissa was crying as she spoke now. "You're not the only one who loved her. And that's no excuse. I was six and I handled it better than you, but that doesn't mean I didn't suffer without Mum there. I did your work for you. I even got to the point where I didn't mind it. I didn't want you to thank me. But to turn on me? To tear down Gus and me to make you feel more righteous? There is no excuse for that."

The truly shocking thing about her outburst was not seeing the ever-giddy Marissa Fletcher angry and crying from sadness in turn, it was that Jerome Fletcher was silenced. It was a very long moment of silence. Fawkes, apparently disliking the tension, shuffled nervously back and forth on his perch. "I deserved this, Marissa," Mr Fletcher said quietly after a long moment. "I deserved every minute of what you've put me through this past month. In fact, I'm glad you did it. It's made me realize how much I do care about Mundungus, and more than that, it's made me realize that I haven't shown it in years, if I ever did. You were more alone than an orphan. You lost me, but you didn't get anyone else to come take care of you in my place. You don't know how proud I am of you for being there for Mundungus the way you have all his life. I can't make up for that, not with you, not you whom I left alone without even your name. I can't make that up to you, but please, please I'd like a chance to make it up to Mundungus." Marissa looked up at him for the first time with a different emotion than anger. "Please, Marissa, I want to make it up to my son. I know that it won't be easy. I won't become a great dad overnight. But this Easter and then later this summer you could help me. Until then I could try. Please, Marissa, give me another chance to be a father to my son. I know I don't deserve it, but I couldn't bear to lose him as I've lost you."

Marissa looked at him for a moment, then turned to Dumbledore, "I assume you already know where he is."

"Yes, but I'd prefer it if you got him," Dumbledore replied.

There was a slight pause. "Okay."

Jerome Fletcher stared at his daughter. "Really, Riss? You'll give me your blessing to try to raise him?"

Marissa stood before she looked over at him, "Okay."

Marissa turned to walk out of the office. She twirled on her heel, "You'll let me out this time, Professor?"

Dumbledore smiled at her. "Okay."

"Okay," Marissa replied.

She opened the door. "I do love the two of you, Marissa," Jerome Fletcher told her back.

"Okay," she said without turning.

* * *

Marissa folded Mundungus into her arms, holding him close almost fearfully. "I love you, Gus," she whispered in his ear before releasing him. She looked up into the eyes of her father standing just off to the side, "Take good care of him." It was both a warning and a plea and also, somehow, a declaration of her faith in him.

Father and daughter exchanged no further words, and Mundungus was too worried to be his normal talkative self. He was rather thrown by the abrupt change in both his father and Marissa (though admittedly his father could have been changing over the course of a month). He barely heard Marissa's nervous voice as she prattled on about nothing; she seemed to be saying, "I'll ship you some of our enchiladas by owl post," or something just as unimportant to him. What did he care? Did she think he wouldn't hurl the enchiladas that had ended his stay at Hogwarts out the window? Or better yet as his father whom he did not believe had changed for good?

Unwilling to look at either of them, Mundungus glanced up at the aged man standing just off to the side. His blue eyes were fixed on Mundungus, looking as if he understood what he was thinking. Marissa seemed to have great respect for him, her eyes darting to his face every so often as if for approval. Was that man the reason that Mundungus was going home with his father instead of staying with Marissa like she promised? Or was he just the reason that Marissa was suddenly okay with it? Or was it all a front? Was she planning some grand escape to come and resuce him? Surely that was the only reasonable explanation that she was allowing him to go so quietly. How soon would he be back at Hogwarts? How soon would everything be right again?

But would his father look for him again? That was the real question. He had already convinced himself that Marissa would try to rescue him. But would she be able to? Would she risk it if she knew that, or even just thought that, their father would look for him again? Why had his father done that in the first place anyway?

And why did that old man have to keep looking at him like that?

Then his father's hand was on his shoulder, and he was being led away to a horseless carriage that would take him to the train station he had seen only a month earlier and ultimately to the home he had half-hoped he would never have to see again. He turned to watch as Marissa's worried face grew slowly smaller and smaller, then too blurred to read.

Marissa watched until the carriage was through the gates, squinting for it until it was around the bend. She watched the last spot that it had been visible for a long moment, "Will he ever forgive me?" she wondered aloud, "For giving him to a man that I fear?"

"I would not ask this of you if I thought your fear justified," Professor Dumbledore replied quietly. "In your brother's case, I truly believe your father means to change. I have always believed in second chances and so, Miss Fletcher, have you."

Marissa, at long last, pried her eyes away from the last spot the carriage had been visible and turned to the Headmaster, "He doesn't deserve a second chance," she said softly. "He hasn't earned this kind of trust. But he gets it because if he isn't lying than he's what's best for Mundungus."

Dumbledore merely looked at her for a moment, then he said quietly, "I did not think that you would give me cause to be proud of you today, Miss Fletcher."

* * *

Professor McGonagall was not proud. That was likely calling a dragon a salamander. She was staring at Marissa with fire in her eyes. Marissa usually found it difficult to think of her short, no-nonsense Transfiguration teacher as a formidable witch (not least because the word still carried some Muggle conotation with her). However, she looked it now. It was definitely easy to see the power that had led her to become one of the youngest animagi in history when she was looking at her with her lips pressed so tightly together they were practically invisible and giving off the aura of being on the verge of making something explode, and not entirely by accident either.

"Miss Fletcher," she said quietly as if she were afraid if she spoke any louder she would be screaming. "I never would have expected it from you." Marissa closed her eyes but managed to stay standing. "It was my intention to strip you of your prefect's badge," she said harshly, risking a little more volume. "However, Professor Dumbledore insists that you remain Gryffindor's prefect. I would like to add that you had a good chance of being Head Girl here, Miss Fletcher, if your potions work improved. I would never have believed it of you. You will be handling all prefect-assigned detentions for the remainder of the year," McGonagall continued, "And one hundred points from Gryffindor."

Marissa's eyes flew open and a gasp escaped her lips. "However," Profesor McGonagall said tightly, "this would automatically remove you from prefect status and Professor Dumbledore has insisted that that not happen. Therefore, I decided to lower the deduction to 75, allowing that, if you and Mr Lupin incured no further infractions your joint prefect status could be maintained. On reflection, however, I deemed that this was unfair to Mr Lupin who, though well meaning, does at times lose points. Therefore, I lowered the amount to fifty and placed the restriction against losing any further points solely on you. Even Professor Dumbledore does not forbid my placing you on probation and making your badge conditional. At the prefects meeting on Monday night I will announce that whenever they assign a detention they are to come to you about the date and time. You may go."

Marissa had never bolted out of McGonagall's office so fast. She leaned up against the wall once out of it and let out a long breath. She understood and appreciated McGonagall's kindness in telling her about her original intentions before announcing the final figure. Fifty didn't look quite so bad after a hundred. However, Gryffindor would never know that it was almost a hundred. And fifty points in one shot (almost the worth of a Quidditch match) was enough to drop them out of their comfortable first place. In fact, they were now third, she realized. She had the feeling that this was going to be a very long year.

Then all thoughts of points were gone when she realized just how long of a year it would be. It was only a few days into February now, she wouldn't see Mundungus for five months. She wouldn't be able to make sure that he was okay every day for five long months. She had given him to a man she still wasn't fully sure that she believe for five months where she wouldn't be able to touch him. Dumbledore would make sure of that, even if he still wanted her to be a prefect.

Marissa put her hand over her eyes, letting her shoulders slump. She was tired, something that she hadn't permitted herself to acknowledge for years. She didn't mean physically tired although she had gotten almost no sleep last night and had had a very trying day. It was years of weariness that she suddenly felt unable to repress any longer. Marissa never admitted it to herself, but she was tired. Tired of playing her mother's role.

She felt tears stinging at her eyes and couldn't blink them back because she had been fighting them for too long. She had been fighting the chant that was ringing in her head for nine years. She had fought it because she believed that to wish something was to hope that it came true, and she knew that her wish was hopeless. She had known it even at the tender age of six, but she could not fight the longing any more. Sobs rose in her throat not for the loss of her brother, but for the loss of her mother all those years ago. She knew it was childish, but the only voice she could find was the wail of a six year old who had lost her mother.

She kept thinking the mostly irrational idea that her mother would have known better what to do and the not so irrational idea that if her mother had been there everything would have been better. If her mother had been there everything wouldn't be such a frightful mess. Mum, if you were still here everything would be all right. Maybe she was like her mother to everyone else, but Marissa did not feel like she had her with her. She just felt alone.

Marissa did not even hear the footsteps in the echoing corridor. Not until she felt small, delicate hands grip her shoulder did she glance up. It was the only time that she had ever been disappointed to see Lily's face, but she had for half a moment truly believed that it was her mother come to give her comfort. Lily immediately pulled her best friend to her when she saw the tears poring down her face and began to rock her back and forth slowly in an attempt to comfort her. "I wasn't ready to be a mother, Lily," Marissa choked out, trying not to sob but that only seemed to make it worse. "I shouldn't have - shouldn't have had to be a mother at six! I just want - I just want to go back in time and do my life over again! I just want her to not have died. I just want my mother to not have died."

"I'm sorry, Riss. I'm so sorry," Lily whispered, feeling her slowly begin to quiet.

"Well, if it's any consolation, you can have my mother," Sirius said with a feeble smirk as he led the Marauders en masse toward the two girls. Lily shot him a warning look, but Marissa began to laugh through her tears and pulled away enough to swipe at her tears before the boys saw them, for all the world as if that was what mattered. The boys ranged around the two girls, all looking (for once in their lives) humble and shame-faced at all that they had put her through.

Just when it appeared that they were about to say what they had all been wanting to, Marissa cut them off, "Please, please let's just do the whole apologies later, I'm not up for it right now. I know I owe you one, but I can't right now."

Remus started to protest that she didn't have near as much to apologize for as they did when Lily elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up. After that, Marissa gave what was partly a laugh but mostly a sob and one gigantic group hug resulted. What McGonagall thought when, a few seconds later, she came out of her office to see all six fifth year Gryffindors holding the crying Marissa none of them could say, for they never saw her pass.

It was a little easier to guess what the other witness to the scene thought of the Gryffindor Group Hug. He waited until Lily had hurried a red-eyed but calmer Marissa towards the prefect's bathroom to get cleaned up, then announced his presence to the still oblivious boys. "So, what'd you say to get the mudblood crying?" Severus Snape drawled, leaning up against the wall with a heavy book with a frightful looking stain on it still half open in his hands.

The boys whirled so fast they nearly spun too far. "Which one are you after now, Potter? You can keep dabbling in the mudbloods all you like, but just let me tell you now, you'll never find one with blood as filthy as yours," Severus spat.

All four Marauders drew their wands but Snape (who had been ready afterall) was quicker on the draw. As none of them where particularly keen on geting into a duel right in front of McGonagall's office (and the Gryffindors believed her to still be inside it), they reached an uncomfortable stalemate as they stared at eachother with their wands out. This allowed Snape to continue taunting them as before, "Or won't even a mudblood have you, Potter?"

"Don't call her that!" James shouted, it burst out of his tightly clenched lips with too much force to keep his voice down.

"Which one? The redheaded tart? Or the self-righteous prefect?" Snape sneered.

With that, two pureblooded boys promptly forgot that they were wizards, forgot that they were standing directly outside of Professor McGonagall's office, forgot everything but the raw need to punch the living daylights out of eachother.

* * *

"All right, I'm officially jealous of you for being a prefect," Lily announced when she saw the prefect's bathroom. Marissa tried to smile but couldn't hold it in place for very long. Luckily Lily was still gaping around at the marble sinks and the Olympic swimming pool bath tub. "And you only have to share this with twelve other people?"

"Eleven if Alice or Stacy makes Head Girl next year," Marissa replied with a smirk. "Oh buck up, Lils, you'll be in here before long."

"You said I'd make prefect too, you know," Lily replied, taking her eyes off the marble sculpture of the cherub with difficulty. "And I think you'll beat me out for Head Girl as well."

"Lily, even if our grades were the same, which they are not, the last time I check Arithmancy is weighted higher than Divination," Marissa replied, applying fresh make up where her tears had washed it off. "Especially the way that Galda teaches it. We spend more time in that class just sitting and drinking tea 'waiting for inspiration to come to us.' " Marissa said the last part in a misty voice with a heavy Gaillec accent. She chuckled to herself as she applied the last dab and spun about in her chair for Lily to approve her work.

Lily immediately rushed over and began to expertly correct Marissa's attempt at beauty. After a moment, considerably less time than it usually took, she took out her wand and murmured a useful little spell that Marissa had found that would hold your makeup in place for twelve hours. Marissa was always a little nervous about asking Lily to do the spell but didn't want to make her feel bad about her mental block about Charms. It was a new phobia, truthfully. She used to get along all right in the class, but then she and James used to help eachother out in Charms and Transfiguration respectively. Since the schism both had been having an increasingly hard time in their worst subject. They had gotten too used to leaning on eachother.

"So, do you think the boys have really forgiven me?" Marissa asked when Lily proclaimed her as good as new.

"Riss, how many times must I ask you not to ask me to fathom the minds of boys?" Lily laughed. "But if you really want to make it up to them. . ." she had a mischievious smile on her face, "They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomache."

* * *

"James! Sirius! NO!" Marissa was shouting an hour later. "I've saving that tray to send to the Boneses! You've already eaten the ones I was going to send to Mundungus! For Christ's sake I made so many! Are your appetites insatiable?" Although she was yelling and quite obviously cross, it was clear to all that she was not really angry, merely frustrated with the pair of them. "Remus! Peter! Can't you restrain them? They're eating like animals!"

For some reason, all the boys jumped. "Oh don't tell me you've never heard it before. Those house elves in the kitchen must mutter it under their breath about you lot all the time. Or do you bother to listen to them?"

"We not eavesdroppers and spies, Marissa," James said mildly, but everyone knew that he was referring to her knowledge of so many secrets. In truth, that was the only reason that her quite harmless comment had alarmed them: they had been searching so hard for any sign whether or not she knew their main secret.

"With that Cloak, James Potter?" Lily said dryly, almost hostilely. "You really are thick if you think we're going to swallow that."

"I'm not asking you to swallow anything. Just believe me," James snapped irritably.

Remus chortled, realizing that his friend had been caught in the snares of Muggle terminology. Marissa, however, quickly moved to restrain Lily before she could think of doing anything out of anger. "Lils, do you think you could help me get this package off? James, Sirius, will you call your owls for me?" As the four set about their tasks, comfortable conversation once again resumed in the room that, for the past hour, had been so full of good cheer.

After all the packages had been sent off, the boys all began to file out the door. "Just where do you think you're going before the washing up is done?" Lily demanded, making them stop at the door.

"Lily," Sirius said carefully, glancing at his fellow Marauders for help, "Just trust me, we really need to be going."

Lily's eyes flashed dangerous, "Why?" she said tightly.

"Oh bother, Lils," Marissa cut in, "Do you really want the Marauders to help clean up the fragile dishes? Just go boys."

The four immediately fled without another word. Lily turned on her the moment they were gone, "Riss, just because you want them to like you again does not mean that you need to let them walk all over you. There is no reason on or under this earth that they can't help us pack up everything to take back to Gryffindor Tower."

"Just let it be, Lils," Marissa replied. "You can leave if you want."

Lily sniffed. "I have some manners," she replied.

"Just not very good ones," Marissa smirked at her.

"Riss!" Lily shouted in complaint, throwing a nearby napkin at her. Marissa laughed and grabbed the two plates nearest her. However, she stayed in the kitchen washing them after that, and Lily finished clearing the table. When Lily brought the last dish in, the platter for the Spanish rice side dish they had made that morning, she saw Marissa scrubbing one of the plates so furiously that she was alarmed. She never thought that the way someone was washing a dish would frighten her, but just then it did. "You know," she said gently, setting down the platter carefully, "It occurs to me that we don't really have to do the dishes."

"And leave them for the house elves?" Marissa all but snapped.

Lily nearly jumped, it was so odd to hear such blunt annoyance in Marissa's voice. "No, I was just thinking that this room would probably do them for us if we walked back and forth, how many times was it?" Marissa did not answer or stop swatting at the plate she was holding with a dishtowel. Lily reached to take the plate from her, "Marissa, you don't have to - "

"Just leave me be Lily!" she shouted, jerking it back and slopping a great deal of water on the floor in the process. Lily stood stock still in shock. Marissa, ignoring the soapy puddle on the floor, went back to scrubbing the dish. A moment later she said softly, "I'm sorry, Lily. I just have to do this."

"I'll help you," Lily said softly, looking down at her feet. Marissa handed her a dish with utmost delicacy then all but tore another out of the sink and began to tear at it with the rag she was holding.

After a moment, Marissa spoke again, "This is what I used to do," she explained softly. "After my mother died." Marissa put the dish down and reached for another, this time with much less force. Lily moved over to the side and began to dry them. "I was only six, you know. Father was ignoring me and the baby. I took care of him a lot, playing with him, but that was only good for some of the time. I was lonely, and I started hanging around the kitchens with Mavi. Father hired her when Mother got pregnant, but I don't think Mum ever let her do much while she was - around. She probably didn't let a six year old do much, but this was what I did when I was tired or angry or just sad. So now I guess whenever I feel like that I just want to cook or clean something."

"I wonder if that's why Petunia's gotten so fussy about how orderly her room is," Lily said quietly. "Honestly, she must have gone over that thing with plastic gloves. It was spotless."

"I think that's just a personality thing," Marissa said with a small smile that quickly faded. They finished the rest of the dishes in silence.

* * *

The next day Gryffindor was down a hundred points in the great House Race. Slytherin was down fifty, tying them for last place. The entire fifth year was in total disgrace with the rest of the house. Marissa, who was usually popular, was shunned. James had it easier. Everyone expected the Marauders to lose a ton of points. And at least he had been in an honorable fight with a Slytherin. The rest of the Marauders and Lily were given the cold shoulder for not stopping Marissa and James from getting into a fist fight and - well whatever it was that Marissa had done to lose Gryffindor all those points.

It also hit hard that it was their own Head of House and Professor Flitwick for crying out loud who had subtracted the points. Even the boys were subdued under the glares from their housemates. McGonagall didn't seem to pity them in the least, but Flitwick appeared remorseful when he learned that Gryffindor had already lost fifty points that same day. After Charms, he pulled Marissa aside and spoke to her about it. "I was wondering," he said in his high voice, looking at her with a thoughtful expression on his face, "If you'd be interested in a special project to make up some of the house points that Gryffindor has recently lost."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather James?" Marissa said, looking at him in surprise. He looked at her in silence for a moment until she added, "I'll do it, of course, but he's much better than me at Charms."

"Though it may be strictly true that his marks are slightly higher than yours in this class," Flitwick replied, "The spell I'm setting you to research is rather something that Mr Potter will never understand. You won't appreciate it fully for many years yet, let us hope that of all the girls in his school, but you will be able to get a much firmer grasp on this particular subject than either Mr Potter or myself."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think that could possibly be true," Marissa replied immediately.

Flitwick chuckled. "I assure you, Miss Fletcher, that it is quite possible, as are most things. But in this case, it is not so unlikely when you learn what spell you will be researching. It is a very obscure spell. In fact, no one has used it for many many years. It's called the Midwife's Spell. You should find the research you need for your report in the library. I've been meaning to assign you this project for some time, and with Gryffindor's current fall from grace, I thought the time right." He cleared his throat. "For the maximum points you should turn it in by the end of the week." Marissa nodded, and Flitwick nodded in return. "Now, I believe you should hurry along to your next class. I daresay Gryffindor can't afford to lose any more points."

Sirius and Remus had waited for her outside class. Or that was how it looked at first. On second glance they appeared to be conspiring. Why they would conspire without Peter and, she hated to think it but especially, James she couldn't fathom. Sirius seemed to be trying to reassure Remus about something. He was hanging his head looking more than usually despondent. Both boys' eyes were red, as if they hadn't slept all night. When they both looked up and saw her, they immediately stopped talking. As they walked down the passage, Marissa noticed that Sirius walked with a limp.

* * *

The Marauders had been suspiciously absent in the Common Room last night. Tonight Sirius was the only one there, even more conspicuous than their complete absense for two reasons. The first was that hardly anyone but whomever they were dating and sometimes not even the current "luckiest girl in Hogwarts" ever saw James and Sirius apart. The second was that Sirius was much more subdued without his best friends in toe. He even went up to bed early.

Marissa stayed curled up in her favorite armchair until long after everyone else had gone up for the night, even the frantic fourth years who had a Potions exam tomorrow morning. She wasn't reading or studying. She was just sitting and thinking. Lily had been worried, but she was too annoyed with the boys' absense to stay still and silent enough to keep her friend company. Marissa was sitting sideways in the armchair with her legs draped over one of the arms of the chair and hugging her knees so that she was curled up towards them.

"Now that's an interesting position," Sirius said loudly as he swaggered back down the stairs. Marissa, for once, didn't smile when she saw him. "I'm always telling James you'd make a good lay. Always say he should take his eyes off the white stag he's chasing and look at what's chasing after him."

"Not now, Sirius," she murmured, her face still half-hidden behind her knees. "I'm not in the mood for all your sordid innuendos."

"But that's why you were so desperate to become my friend again," Sirius replied cheekily. "For my innuendo and foreplay, that and my secrets."

"So we are friends again?" Marissa affirmed, choosing to ignore the rest.

"After that fabulous meal you made us?" Sirius replied. "Are you kidding me?"

Marissa smiled briefly, shaking her head. "Be serious!"

"Why, Marissa, that's precisely who I'm being!" Sirius laughed. "Jokes and sordid innuendo are totally Sirius to me."

"Oh Merlin!" Marissa cried, looking up to the ceiling as if for deliverance. "You'd think after five years that joke would get old!"

"You'd think after five years you'd learn not to set me up for it," Sirius countered with a laugh. Once he had gotten a small one out of Marissa, silence descended on them. Marissa returned to staring at her knees. Even Sirius was still and almost melancholy for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was truly serious and no longer the kind of voice he used to fill up the common room. It was more personal and earnest, "You could have just told us, you know."

"You think so?" Marissa replied softly.

"We're friends, Riss. We would have helped you," Sirius replied. "You could have told us."

"You could have told me about the Cloak," Marissa replied. Sirius started and stared at her. "We're friends, Sirius, but I'm not a Marauder." There was silence for a moment. "That's been made abundantly clear to me in the past years. And the Marauders guard their secrets."

"Riss," Sirius said carefully. "Not all the secrets are mine to give."

"You might have told me about the Cloak as courtesy to another prankster," Marissa countered. "And the mirrors? You didn't have to keep those a secret."

"Obviously we didn't," Sirius replied with a slight smirk.

"So you might as well have told me," Marissa almost laughed. "You didn't have to worry about me telling anyone. Why wouldn't you just tell me?" Sirius just looked at her for a long moment. "Like why aren't you with the rest of your little friends tonight? And what happened to your leg?"

"Not all secrets are mine to tell, Riss," Sirius said again.

"Yeah, I know. It's Remus's too. But you notice he's the Marauder I trust with my secrets," Marissa said, rising to her feet. "Because he trusts me with his." Sirius perked up at this, but Marissa didn't notice. "He didn't blanch when I asked for the Cloak. He tried to get you to give me the mirrors without a fuss. He at least trusts me with your precious boys club secret toys."

She turned and walked to the stairs. "We're making a map," Sirius said suddenly. Marissa turned. "Of Hogwarts Castle and Grounds. Complete with all the secret passages that we've discovered." Marissa walked back to her armchair and sat down, this time without draping her legs of the arm of the chair. "And another little extra inspired by you."

"By me?" Marissa cried in surprise.

"By your success in eluding us," Sirius clarified. "James found a charm to put on the ink to track the wherabouts of people in the castle. Enemies, partners in crime. . .partners in - "

"Sirius Black!"

" - other crimes. . ."

"You are too much, Sirius, I don't know what that fan club sees in you," she laughed.

"So tell me truthfully, Riss, did you already know about the map?" Sirius asked shrewdly.

"I didn't know about the tracking ink," Marissa offered him with a smirk. Sirius laughed and stood to leave.

"What is the world coming to?" he yelled to no one in particular as he stomped up the staircases. Marissa had her first long laugh since Gus left, then turned and walked up the stairs of the Girls' Dormitory.

* * *

f "So, Lils," Marissa said in a mostly-kidding voice, "Are you absolutely sure that you don't want to help me with my project?"

Lily grimaced at her. They were both sitting at a table in the back of the library surrounded by books. Or at least Lily was. Marissa had just leafed through a colossal one entitled, Regristry of Research on Obscure Spellwork which listed all the references made to many (and by that it meant thousands) of obscure spells not likely to be in most mainstream studies. After an hour of searching (it had taken forty-five minutes to figure out the system of organization and fifteen minutes to thumb through all the pages that began with "Mi" words), Marissa was finally sitting with a (small) list of books and articles that mentioned the Midwife's Spell. Now all she had to do was track some of them down.

"Riss, it's Charms," Lily said by way of refusal.

Marissa laughed. "Why do you hate Charms so much? Didn't Mr Ollivander say your wand was supposed to be especially good at Charms?"

"How in the world do you know that?" Lily asked in surprise, looking up from her essay on the Unforgivable Curses for the first time since they had sat down.

Marissa rolled her eyes at her dismay, "You don't remember? Summer after third year when Sirius begged all of us to 'bump into him' and his family at Diagon Alley because he couldn't take one more minute with just Regulus and his parents, and we all ended up tromping around Madame Malkins and Flourish and Blotts with the little twirp until we finally came to Ollivanders. Took Regulus about two hours to find the right wand, plenty of time for Mr Ollivander to pedigree each of our wands in turn." Lily smiled at the memory of the seven of them crowded into Ollivander's with the boys fighting with them over being a gentleman and letting them sit the single chair. "Come to think of it, James's was supposed to be good at Transfiguration, and he hates the subject." Lily looked over at her. "Is there something to that?"

"I don't know, what's your wand supposed to be good at, Potions?" Lily asked with a very Marauder-like smirk on her face.

Marissa threw her quill at her as she rose to her feet, but she was smiling. Lily was the only fifth year Gryffindor who was any good at Potions. Marissa scraped by mostly because she had Lily for a partner and in-room tutor but knew for certain that she would not be making it her life's work. Remus and Peter were both hopeless, and so of course always ended up paired together. James and Sirius might have been all right if they bothered to pay any attention to it, which of course they didn't, which of course is quite disastrous in Potions Class as they had learned (or rather failed to learn) on many occassions. It was all right though. Lily was so spectacular that she earned all the points that Gryffindor needed from Potions, even enough to make up for the points lost in James and Sirius's Great Cauldron Meltdowns. Professor Delacour, a tiny french brunette who was nevertheless one of their more formiddable (if forgiving) teachers, often joked that she would be publishing a study with this title based on their mistakes in her class.

Luckily there had been no disaster today, so Lily was in a good enough move that she just might help Marissa with some of the research once she finished her essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts. In the meantime, Marissa weaved in and out of the bookshelves, finding four of the books on her list and returning to the table thinking it quite a success, even if all of them merely had small sections about the Midwife's Spell in particular. One of the books must surely have been enchanted, Marissa thought, for it reportedly listed the exact date and time that certain of the rarest spells had been performed going back centuries. Marissa was tempted to explore how this book functioned, but figured she should probably learn just what the Midwife's Spell did before she asked who did it.

She found it in the book entitled The Perils of Magical Childbirth, being careful not to glance at any of the other pages once she had seen the grotesque diagram on the first page that resulted from a spell gone wrong. On page 796 it explained the charm.

The Midwife's Spell

Encantation: "Dio e col mio bambino per posso non"

Derivation: Italian

Translation: "God be with my baby for I cannot"

Discovery: 1737 in Pisa, Italy

Purpose: Used in extreme cases. Unlike what is often referred to as its sister spell, the Midwife Charm, the Midwife's Spell was never widely used. It is not merely a highly dangerous spell, it is fatal. It is used in extreme cases only where neither the mother nor her child have a chance to live. In such cases, the Magical Midwife, or even the mother herself if one is not available, can cast the charm on the mother. It has never failed to allow a healthy child to be born quickly, however the cost is terrible. To save the baby's life, the spell uses a powerful old magic, the binding of a woman to her child. To save her child, the mother sacrifices her life. On two occassions (that are documented though it is believed there are no additional ones) a mother, seeing that her child will not survive the delivery, has cast the spell on herself although she herself should survive the labor. On both occassions, known birth defects expected to be in the children born were not present. In two hundred years, it is believed that the Spell has been cast only seven times, there being a multitude of other options for most women and children.

Marissa gaped at the page. When she started reading it, she had been jotting down the notes on its origin and history. However, when she actually started reading its synopsis, she forgot all about her notes. She had an eerie feeling that the words on the page would never fully leave her. No wonder it had only been used seven times in the course of history! To kill yourself! Thank God it wasn't a well known spell! Still, Marissa found herself thinking, if they were going to both die. . . She shook herself. What about the women who had chosen it without that? Who had sacrified themselves for their children? Who were they?

Marissa had been meaning to save the list of when the spell had been performed for last, but now she grabbed at it, flipping quickly through. No wonder this book could keep track of when the charms had been performed! Seven in two hundred years! However, when she opened the book to the proper page, she saw eight listings. She checked the publish date of The Perils of Magical Childbirth and discovered that the last one had been performed after 1940 and was therefore not included.

Suddenly Marissa's eyes snapped back to the last date on the page. She could not say that there were any particular thoughts in her head for a very long time as she stared at it.

"Riss? Riss?" Lily's voice sounded loud and echoing in the utter silence of her mind. "Riss, are you all right? Your eyes are bugging out. They're as big as saucers." Marissa couldn't look away. "Now there as big as platters. What's up?"

Marissa looked up at her for a long moment, then back down at the page. Lily walked over to the other side of the table and leaned over her shoulder to read it. Marissa laid her hand on the last date and held it there as if afraid to move her hand. "December 24, 1967; Six o'clock and thirty-seven minutes in the evening; London, England," Lily read in confusion. "Riss, what - "

But hearing the words aloud had stirred Marissa into motion. She snapped the book shut and stood so quickly Lily nearly toppled over behind her. Marissa, knocking her chair over into the already off-balance Lily, strode quickly back towards the main line of bookshelves. This time she was moving purposefully and quickly, not leisurely meandering down the aisles. After recovering her balance, Lily immediately followed Marissa, eying her friend with concern. She stopped so suddenly Lily almost ran into her. Marissa was getting into a bad habit of very nearly tripping her. They had stopped in the very last place that Lily had expected her to go for research. They were deep in the Memorabilia Section, the part of the library devoted to old Hogwarts yearbooks. It was also where all old Prefect Meeting minutes were doomed to end up eventually. It was a very seldomly visited shelf.

Marissa, however, was staring at the line of yearbooks with extreme interest. Lily wasn't sure if that was the right word, but that didn't concern her at the moment as much as the look on her friend's face. It looked stricken. "Where would she be?" Lily heard her mumble as she stared at the long row of yearbooks. In a sudden burst of movement, she grabbed about a decade worth of books and pulled them all to the ground at once. Immediately she sat down on the ground and began to thumb through them.

"Where would who be, Riss?" Lily asked worriedly.

"My mother," Marissa said thickly.

Lily had no earthly idea what to say to that, so she echoed her, "Your mother?" When Marissa did nothing but nod and flip through the yearbooks at a much less frantic pace, Lily sank down onto the floor next to her. "What do you mean your mother, Riss? Your mother was a Muggle."

"No," Marissa said. "No, because if she were a Muggle she couldn't have cast that spell."

Lily was silent for a moment. Then, "What?"

"The Midwife's Spell," Marissa said utterly calmly as if she were merely thumbing through a mildly interesting photo album and hadn't been acting like she was about to have a nervous breakdown a moment before. "You saw the date, didn't you? Mundungus's birthday. She died, he lived. She collapsed as we were about to leave for Christmas Mass. It starts at seven. I think."

"You think?" Lily repeated the only part that had made any sense to her. "Marissa," Lily pleaded, "Talk sense." Marissa didn't respond. "We celebrated your brother's birthday in January, the sixth, right? The date on that spell was Christmas Eve - "

"Gus was born on Christmas Eve," Marissa said evenly, in a flat tone.

"Then why - "

"Because Father didn't like to remember the day his wife died in childbirth. Thought it bordered on sacrilege to throw a party on that day. That's why I'm so into Christmas, he didn't celebrate it either," Marissa said, still in that flat voice. "But I remember. December 24, 1967 around six thirty, my mother collapsed and, contrary to what anyone expected, gave birth to a healthy baby boy then died just when we thought she was out of danger. And she knew she was dying somehow. I still remember. . .remember her saying, 'You'll make it Gus.' But she knew she was dying."

"Riss - "

"Please, Lily, just humor me." Lily looked at her for a long moment, then picked up another of the yearbooks. Marissa looked up briefly at her in thanks. Lily felt as she had when she had tried to get Marissa to stop compulsively washing the dishes and decided to help her instead.

"Just what am I looking for?" Lily asked her, opening the book to a random page.

"Olivia Jane. . .Nelson I suppose," Marissa replied. "I think that's still her name at least."

Lily felt vaguelly as if she should acknowledge that she understood this somehow, but wasn't sure that she did. It was just as well Marissa's cry of recognition interrupted her. Lily immediately leaned over the page. Marissa was pointing to the photograph of a young girl about sixteen or seventeen. The caption under the picture read, "Olivia Nelson." The girl in the photograph had Marissa's dancing blue eyes and was smiling up at them in a most mischievious way. Her long, rich brown hair cascaded down past her shoulders and beyond the borders of the picture. What was almost more startling was the realization that the woman had the same bone structure, nose, eyebrows, and chin as Marissa. These seemed almost more personal somehow, even though Lily had always considered her "laughing eyes" and "contagious smirk" Marissa's trademarks.

"So she was a sixth year Ravenclaw that year," Marissa read from the top of the page.

"Seventh years have a whole page of stats, do you want to look hers up?" Lily asked almost worriedly. "They're divided by Houses, but now that we know hers. . ."

"Yeah," Marissa agreed, but she thumbed through to the group photographs in the same book that she was holding, obviously looking for her mother in them. Lily almost understood for the first time since they had sat down with the yearbooks: it was more real to see her in a group. A single photo could be planted, but to find a group shot that she was in. . .

Never mind who would want to plant the photograph. Lily sighed and shifted through the books until she found the next year.

They spent hours in that library, hardly even noticing that time was passing, particularly Marissa. They spread out all seven yearbooks before them and flipped through them, hardly speaking, getting to know Marissa's mother. Lily was looking for the answer to why she had kept it from her family. Marissa was looking for a different answer, one she thought must be here if only because she needed the answer so badly: why had she died?

* * *

When they finally closed the books, they found the library deserted. Even Madam Pince had left, either not noticing that they were there or realizing something of what it meant to them to stay. Lily suspected the former though it seemed hard to believe of the (to put it mildly) freakishly-obsessed librarian. Marissa kept the seventh year book clutched to her chest as they stole quietly out of the library, thankful that it didn't lock from the inside. It was even later than they had thought. They were long past due in the Gryffindor Common Room. Luckily, they met no one (at least visible, Lily later grumbled suspiciously when they learned that the Marauders had been out for the third night in a row) until they woke the Fat Lady and stole inside.

Marissa had stayed with her notes and parchment down in by the fireplace in the empty Common Room (darn if it must be very late). "Come on, Riss, we need sleep," Lily had tried to urge her, one foot on the stairs.

"It's Thursday, Lily, I've still got to hand this in tomorrow," Marissa said quietly, not looking up.

"I'll wait with you."

Lily fell asleep sitting up in the armchair facing Marissa who wrote steadily, her hand not shaking. She woke Lily when she was finished.

Now, she was standing in front of Professor Flitwick after Charms class. She had told Lily to go on ahead, hoping that the boys would go too. She walked up to his desk and wordlessly handed the parchment to the professor. "Oh, yes, thank you," he squeaked. Then he looked her over, the same piercing look that she was giving him. "Let us see. . .twenty-five points to Gryffindor if you've done a good job on this."

"Professor," Marissa said softly, "You knew about my mother."

It was not a question. "Yes, Marissa, I did," he said, his voice sounding almost sad as he shuffled the paper in his hands. "I have been meaning to assign you that task in the hopes that you would make this discovery."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Marissa asked him.

"I wanted to be sure that you were ready," he replied. "When I heard about your, shall we call it a, rescue mission? - with your brother, I knew that you had been ready for some time."

"But Professor, how could you know?" Marissa burst out. "I lived that day and even so I had to connect them by intuition. . ."

"You know I don't play favorites among my students," he assured her. "But your mother was a prefect for my house, and she was such fun to have in class. Kept me on my toes, rather like that James friend of yours. It was in my first year of teaching too, so I grew quite attached to all of those students. Not that I care about your class any less," he assured her hurriedly yet again. "But I kept track of all of them in a way that I can't do now. Your mother in particular. When she renounced magic, I actually confronted her if you can believe I would be such an interfering clod. Said she shouldn't waste her gift. She tried to give me her wand, but I - I'm afraid to say I nearly flew into a temper at that," he said the last sentence with quite and air of nervousness about such a thing. Marissa tried to stifle a giggle at Professor Flitwick being dangerously angry. "Oh, you may laugh," he said indulgently, with a smile, "But I was a champion dueler in my youth. Still quite fiesty when that happened. Anyway, I put a tracker on your mother's wand so that I would know if she was using magic. Now, don't let that out, not technically a legal thing for anyone but an Auror to do, you understand. She didn't break it for eight years, then I hear about her death. I took out the book then, to see if it could have anything to do with - oh isn't this silly? I don't even know if it was Grindewald or Voldemort I was afraid might have attacked her! What's the world coming to? - but anyway, I looked to see if she had drawn her wand in self-defense and I saw a phrase that nearly broke my heart."

Professor Flitwick was crying. Marissa was too. "Thank you for telling me that, Professor."

"Are you glad that you know?" he asked her, taking out a handkerchief that looked too large for him though it was probably normal-sized.

"I don't know," Marissa said honestly. "It's - she was so noble but. . .her death caused so much pain."

"To you," he said. "And to your father and brother."

"Yes," Marissa said softly.

"And what do you think of her sacrifice?" the professor asked.

"I suppose," Marissa said after a moment's pause. "I suppose I hope that I would have done the same thing in her place."

Professor Flitwick beamed at her. "In many ways, you have."

©KatyMulvaney4-12-04