The Rules of Science

"There is a smallest unit of substance. This smallest unit may be only a single atom or a group of atoms chemically joined together...the very backbone of chemistry." -From Chemistry Concepts and Problems

~

Jude finds me in my next Potions class, just as promised.

"Would you mind switching seats?" he mutters in my ear, guiding me with his hand on my arm.

I shrug, "Why not?"

Why should I care? I can't see to tell any difference in position. It is not as though it would affect my view of the board.

"Professor Snape, could Madeline switch seats and sit at my table?"

"Certainly. Perhaps she will not blow up any more potions under your surveillance."

I give a sardonic smile in his direction before sitting down in the chair presented to me and taking off my bag.

"How was your weekend?" Jude mutters, daring to talk as the bell has yet to ring.

"Not bad," I say, shrugging again. "Mostly dull. Yours?"

"Can't say it was dull, but nothing new beyond the regular weekend."

The bell rings then and the class automatically become silent. Professor Snape has this bunch trained well.

"The potion is on the board. This is one often found on the N.E.W.T's. You have until the end of the period," is all he says.

I pull out parchment and quill and Jude mutters the ingredients and directions to me and is even patient enough to allow me to read them back to double check.

I will not fail this time, dammit.

"I'll get your cauldron for you," he says quietly, before getting up and leaving.

"Thanks," I reply, resting my cheek on my hand.

I'm grateful for his help, but I certainly hate depending on people like this. I only feel like half a person. Judith would tell me it is just another lesson I have to learn: trust. Like I was ever a trusting person.

I had been rather lethargic all weekend and unfortunately it has carried over into the week. I am not sure why I am feeling so down. I would have attempted to discover its source, but I have been too apathetic to even bother with that. I hate feeling like this worse than anything. There is nothing one hundred percent wrong, so I can't roll in self-pity, and I am far from being complacent, so I can't be comfortable either.

I actually jump when Jude returns with both our cauldrons in tow.

"Thanks," I say again, automatically.

The smell, or stench in some cases, of our ingredients reaches my nose suddenly. He has brought my ingredients as well.

"Thanks. I mean, I know I've said this a few times, but I really mean it," I say as I feel the ingredients and place them into the order in which they are used in the potion.

"Don't think of it. It's my pleasure."

I raise an eyebrow to myself, but say nothing in return. I merely mutter the ingredients to myself, double checking with my list. I had written them down using an almost obsolete symbol short-hand that had been used back in the Middle Ages by alchemists. My mother had insisted I learn it, for purposes not entirely clear to me at the time, but it was certainly useful now. I could use the same spell put on my runes book to raise the symbols so I could feel them with the tips of my fingers.

After double checking my list I commence with the chopping, mincing, dicing, slicing, shredding, peeling, and squeezing of my ingredients. They are lined up and added precisely in order, at precisely the right time, after the precise amount of stirring and mixing in the proper directions. When my potion starts smelling like burned rubber I know it is finished. I put out my fire, unable to keep a triumphant smile off my face. I reach into my bag for one of the various bottles carried around in my bag for this class and ladle the potion into it.

Take this you smarmy bastard, I think to myself as I cork the top. I had even finished before class was over.

I sit perfectly still for a moment, using my senses to determine if Snape is hovering nearby. I decide it is safe to lean over to Jude, "How are you over there?"

"All right. But my potion is more violet than plum," he murmurs back.

I am moderately surprised he can distinguish between those shades; he is obviously a very observant person. Or a very stylish sort of chap who knows his shades very well. Either way, it would give him talent in Potions.

Snape swoops by, "Are you finished then, Miss Philips?"

"Yessir," I reply, holding out my vial of potion only to hit him with it.

"Careful, Miss Philips, you really must think before you move. I should speak to Mr. Wells; he does not seem to be helping you in that area. Of course, it could be his pupil...." He moves away from me, but I am too confidant of my potion to let him bother me. "Not bad, Mr. Theophilus, you still have a few minutes in which you may be able to alter it to its proper shade...."

Once I am sure he is out of earshot, I lean over to Jude, "If you add a bit more of the spotted newt skin to the potion it should do the trick."

"Thank you."

The bell rings and I put all my things away in my bag first, allowing the classroom to clear before I hazard my way to the back with my cauldron to clean it. As soon as the room sounds fairly empty I begin my trek to the back. I know my way fairly well by now, so I quickly clean out my cauldron and put it away. I hurry back to my desk and grab my bag, throwing it over my shoulder. I am free for the day.

As I walk out the door of Potions, I am stopped by Jude.

"Where are you going now?"

I blink in surprise.

"Back to my room," I shrug.

"Would you mind if I accompanied you?"

"Not at all," I say, shrugging again.

"Which way?" he asks.

"Right."

I put my hand on his arm and we start down the corridor in silence.

"So, did the spotted newt skin work?" I ask.

"Yes, perfectly. Thank you."

"No problem."

"You're very talented at potions."

"Thank you. You do very well yourself."

He makes a gesture with his both his hands, realizes I cannot see it, and says, "It's--" and stops abruptly.

"Easy? Nothing? Expected? Nice to be complimented by such a talented girl?" I supply.

Jude chuckles softly in his throat like a cat. "All of the above."

I nod. High marks had been expected of me as well. Not that I always delivered.

"May I ask you a rather personal question?" he continues, now solemn.

I turn my head towards him for a second, as if I think I'll read something in his expression. Old habits die hard, I guess. "Um. I guess. Can't promise I'll answer."

"How were you blinded?" His voice is calm and cool without a trace of embarrassment.

I am caught slightly off guard by this question, though I am not sure why. It's an obvious question to ask someone in my condition. Maybe it is his tone; there isn't any real curiosity, it is more as if he were asking because he had a right to know. I am silent for a moment, considering my answer.

"Well, I was practicing a spell at home, up in my room. I did something wrong and apparently it backfired on me. The force threw me back and I was unfortunate enough to hit the wall at an angle which damaged my vision." I pause to take a breath. "Pretty sad, huh, to blind yourself?"

Jude is quiet for a second, and I can feel his eyes boring holes into my skull.

"Not bad," he says coolly, "but what really happened?"

I glance up at him, again out of habit.

"I just told you," I reply evenly.

"Bullshit."

"If you like."

He stops. I have no choice but to stop as well since I had not been counting steps nor paying attention to our direction.

"Madeline," he says, "you're going to have to lie better than that if you want to fool me. I'm a Slytherin remember? Deception is part of my repertoire."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I retort, becoming annoyed.

"You mean you don't know anything about the four Hogwarts Houses?" he asks incredulously.

"Of course I do," I snap. "I have read Hogwarts, a History. What I mean is why does everyone keep brining the subject of their House up as if it explains something? Tell me, Jude, what does being a Slytherin mean?"

He is silent for a moment before he speaks.

"Well, let's examine what you just told me. A lie. Not a completely incompetent one, but a lie. A lie to protect whom? Surely not someone else. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you do not seem the type to lie merely to protect the name of the bastard who did this to you."

I make no reply, but turn my head and pretend to stare fixedly at a wall...or something, pretending I'm only half listening.

"So you're lying, for yourself, for whatever reason. All you're doing is protecting yourself. A Slytherin would do nothing less. Some might call it cowardly, or selfish, but why should I be held accountable by other men for my actions? I am responsible for no one but myself, and my happiness depends on no one but myself. To me that is the ultimate freedom. What do you get for depending on others or having others depend on you? Nothing. All that is accomplished in the end is a wearing away of that person's individuality. If a Slytherin is cunning and clever to meet his ends, then at least it's his own end and not someone else's. Being a Slytherin means being an individual, Madeline."

He starts moving again and I have no choice but to follow. I am quiet for a few steps before speaking.

"Did you memorize this from a pamphlet they hand out on the first day of school after you've been sorted?" I ask, bemused, but also trying to hide the uneasiness I felt from hearing his words. They were seducing, making you want to believe they were true.

He doesn't answer my question, instead asking if we should be coming up on my room.

"I suppose so. It's behind the tapestry depicting the construction of Hogwarts," I reply, eyes narrowed. "Look, that was very, um, eloquent what you said back there. But are you sure you aren't suffering from groupthink? I mean, if going in, everyone thinks they know what to expect from a Slytherin, then don't you kind of conform to that idea?"

"It's right up here, then."

"Are you going to answer my question, Jude?" I ask.

"Here we are."

I put my hand out and feel the rough texture of the tapestry. I'm unwilling to go in until he says something more. At last he speaks.

"Just think about what I said Madeline. See you."

He touches my arm briefly before setting off down the corridor. I turn my head slowly, following the sound of his footsteps until they die off in the distance.

Frowning in thought, I pull back the tapestry and walk into my room.

"Bad day, again?" Judith asks with a note of exasperation in her voice.

"No," I mutter. "Just...just...a lot." I finish lamely, unable to organize my thoughts into anything articulate.

The stillness of the room is irksome. I wish I had my CDs or even my radio to help give rhythm to my thoughts, or at the very least drown out the rabble. Jude's words were intriguing, but, like quicksilver in the brain, they slid through quickly, without much weight. They were hard to grab on to and form into one coherent thought. He had gotten me thinking.

Damn him. There is something dangerous about that boy. If only I were able to actually see him.

"Would you like to share with the class?" Judith inquires mock sweetly.

I start to shake my head, but think better of it.

"Judith. If you can't see someone, watch someone's reactions, movements, eyes, how can you tell if you can trust them? Or...be able to read into their character?"

Judith is silent for a moment before saying, "That's not even in the Quidditch pitch of what I thought you might say."

"Glad to find I can actually surprise you, Judith. This experience will do you good, I'm sure."

She ignores my sarcasm.

"You know, I've always thought there's a lot to be said for hands."

"Do I need to remind you again that I can't see?"

"You needn't," Judith replies with a touch of asperity. "Don't act stupid, it's not becoming. I meant the feel of a hand. Your fingers have bits of grey matter, the same type of stuff you find in the brain. Maybe there's something to be said for that."

I think of the hands I have shaken in the past few weeks. Dumbledore's had not been as frail as one might expect in such an old man, but rather agile and firm; Snape's, strong but controlled; Silas's, large and comforting, and many classmates and professors since the beginning of my stay here. Had my brain been picking up on these things without me looking for it, or even paying attention for that matter? Maybe I should pay closer attention to the feel of things in the future.

"If you don't have any more questions, I would venture to remind you that Silas will be here in a couple of hours. You may want to start on any homework you can do without his help," Judith says, breaking into my thoughts.

"Right," I say distractedly and walk towards my desk.

I sit down with a heavy sigh. The professors were piling on the homework, citing N.E.W.T's as an excuse to make us miserable and fry our brains. I was used to functioning on little sleep, as much of my magical schooling had taken place at night, but the added stresses of being blind and a new kid in a new environment were definitely taking a toll on my body. I would much prefer taking a nap to writing a three foot Transfiguration essay, translating a chapter of Ancient Runes, and beginning a three and a half foot essay for Potions, not to mention finishing the extra Arithmancy homework I had been assigned due to my substandard performance. I was beginning to catch up, but I had quite a bit of ground to cover.

The two hours pass quickly and I manage to write half of my Potions essay and begin translating the Ancient Runes. My concentration is still rather zapped by the conversation I had with Jude earlier, and I keep straying back to what he had said.

"Hard at work, I see," Silas says, announcing his presence.

"Oh, hello," I reply vaguely.

Pulling up a chair beside me, Silas asks, "Lots of homework tonight?"

"Eh. Not too bad. I don't need to finish Potions. Just need you to read Arithmancy and then look up things for me for my Transfiguration essay."

"Good. Then we'll have to some time to take a stroll around the castle. We'll focus on a couple of your classrooms. Maybe Charms and Transfiguration or something."

I nod, pause, and then put down my quill.

"Silas. What does it mean to be a Ravenclaw?"

"Um," Silas says, clearly caught off guard. "Well. Ravenclaws are generally considered the smartest. We're usually bookworms, overachievers and the like. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I just had a, um, conversation with someone about what it means to be in a certain House. It just seems that by putting someone in a certain house you may, you know, subject them to...or allow other people to perceive them simply by a certain House's traits. It allows people to oversimplify things. I don't know. Maybe I'm overanalyzing from all this N.E.W.T. homework. Never mind. We'd better start."

"Okay, then. Are you sure everything's okay?" Silas isn't as ready as I am to drop the subject.

"Yeah," I pause, and another random sentence bursts from me before I can stop it. "May I feel your hand?"

"What?" He puts his hand on my arm and leans closer to my face, as if to see if he can discern my thought process if he could only get a closer look, nervous amusement in his voice. "Are you sure you're feeling well?"

I slump down in my chair, feeling stupid.

"Look, can I just feel your hand for a minute. This correlates to another conversation I had earlier."

"You certainly have...interesting conversations," he says, laying his hand in my hand, which rests on my leg.

I pick it up and hold it like we are shaking hands, frowning in thought. He grasps back as though it is reflex. I bring my left hand up so his hand is cradled in both of mine. I remember that he had had a wide, square palm the first time we shook hands, but that was all. What else could I learn from his hands? He has a strong grasp; I guess that could mean he was confident or self assured. His nails are clipped very short, maybe that shows he works hard with his hands. His hands aren't stiff; they are soft and relaxed as I feel them with my own, perhaps a sign of his personality. I hold his hand, palm up, in my left hand, tracing over the lines in his right, maybe if I had learned Divination I could discover what lay in his future. I came to the tips of his fingers. To my surprise, there is a tiny flat space at the very tip of each one, a callus.

I look up towards his face with a half-smile, "Do you play a stringed instrument?"

"Yes. The bass. Why?" he sounds bemused.

I shrug, "You have calluses on your fingers." I drop his hand. "We'd better get to work. You have a lot planned for us tonight."

I guess Judith knew what she was talking about, I think to myself. I never thought of hands as betraying that much about a person. Everyone always goes on about a person's eyes.

"What, I don't get to examine yours? I'm the medical professional here, after all."

I glance at him, eyebrows raised. "It was a scientific experiment, and I'm the scientist here. Besides, you're getting paid to be my therapist, not hold my hand. And what if Professor Snape walked in? He was quite icy when you joked about us eating dinner in the Great Hall as a date."

"Fine, fine. Besides, I was just trying to trick you into acting like an adult for once."

"That's very professional of you, Silas," I hold out my Advanced Transfiguration book toward him. "I'm trying to find examples of turning inanimate objects into living, breathing creatures that went horribly wrong, and then trying to deduce why they went wrong. I have all these books from the library as well," I indicate a tall stack of books in the right-hand corner of my desk. Jason had escorted me to the library and helped me find them. That Pince woman had made me extremely jumpy, as I couldn't see where she was and I kept running into her. She apparently didn't trust us not to start tearing the books to pieces without her almost constant vigilance.

After four and a half hours of homework and therapy, Silas leaves me just inside my room with my stomach growling and my head fuzzy for want of sleep. I still have Ancient Runes to finish, as well as writing a conclusion on my Transfiguration essay. I shake my head, trying to focus my thoughts.

Get a grip, I tell myself. It's only just past ten. You still have a good two hours, if not more, where you can get all your work done. My stomach rumbles again. And find food, I add, more to try and fool my stomach, than with any real hope of getting food at this hour. Better finish Transfiguration first, while it's still on my mind.

Silas and I had been talking about Transfiguration on our way back to my room. We had both agreed that the more precise magic came easier to us than did, say, charms, which I found to be more ambiguous. But Silas, of course, being a Healer, pretty much excelled in all subjects. I was finding him a pleasant conversationalist. I felt very at ease with him; he liked to tease, and never felt the need to fill our silences with chatter, which I always find refreshing in a person. Sometimes, there's just nothing to be said.

I sit down and begin my conclusion. It is going along quite well, and I am working out the last couple sentences to perfection when I am interrupted by a sharp rap on my door and Professor Snape announcing his presence with, "Miss Philips, I would like to request--"

I bang my quill down on the table, annoyed that my concentration and flow have been broken. "Can you wait for just one second while I finish up this blasted essay? Cripes. Can't you wait for a simple 'come in?'"

I turn back around and try to reassemble the perfect sentence I had in my mind, too focused on remembering it to feel shock over the fact that Professor Snape hasn't snapped back. I put my head in my hands and concentrate even harder, biting my lip. Pieces of the sentence come back to me, but it isn't as good as the one I originally had. Sighing in frustration, I write it down anyway, adding one more sentence to finish off my essay.

I turn back around, hoping I'm facing in his general direction as I confront him, "I'm sorry I yelled at you," I say, sounding less apologetic and more agitated. "It's just really annoying to have your concentration broken, which I'm sure you can imagine and understand."

"I assure you I don't need to imagine the irritation. I work at a school," he replies, surprisingly without sounding angry, just his usual controlled tone.

Whatever, you breathe irritation, I think. Out loud I say, "What did you want?"

"The Headmaster would like to speak to you."

I screw my eyes shut for a moment before opening them wide again. I must be even more tired than I thought. I am having those strange dreams that involve everyday people and everyday things, but there's some slight surreal twist. I always have them when I am exceptionally exhausted; sometimes my mind even fabricates past events concerning my father, or some of my friends from school.

"I'm sorry," I say. "What?"

"Stop pretending there is something wrong with your ears as well as your eyes. I said the Headmaster would like to speak to you."

"Okay," I reply, confused, and slowly rise from my chair. I search my memory for anything I had done that would merit an interview with Dumbledore. Surely he isn't paying any attention to my grades.

As I take Snape's arm my stomach gurgles again, and I am tempted to ask if there will be refreshments provided.

We walk down the very quiet corridors and up a number of equally quiet stairs before coming to a stop.

"Cauldron Cake," Snape announces inexplicably.

My stomach reminds me of its presence, and I am about to say, "Yes, please," when the sound of stone grinding against stone diverts my attention.

Professor Snape guides me forward, and my toe connects with what feels like a stone step. Before I can complain to Snape for not warning me, we start spiraling upward. I sway a little, caught off balance, and grip his arm more tightly to steady myself.

"Step."

I stumble gracelessly off what I assume was some sort of moving staircase, and stabilize myself once more on Snape's arm.

He raps on a door, and leads me through to door after hearing Dumbledore's "Come in."

"Headmaster," Snape says smoothly.

"Hello, sir," I say with a vague, short nod, still feeling disoriented and displaced.

"Severus, Miss Philips. Won't you both please have a seat?"

Both of us? I think, dumbfounded, allowing Snape to dump me unceremoniously in a comfortable arm chair.

"Would either of you like some tea? I often find it helps relax me at night," Dumbledore asks politely.

"That would be lovely, thank you," I reply faintly.

"No, thank you," Snape says shortly.

I hear the sounds of a tea tray being used.

"Sugar, Miss Philips?"

"A bit, please, yes."

I hear the sound of stirring and a moment later the Headmaster presses a cup and saucer in my hand.

"Thank you."

There are more sounds of stirring and Dumbledore asks, "Are you quite sure you wouldn't like any, Severus?"

"Quite," Snape replies before saying, "Perhaps we could get on with this. I still have papers to grade tonight."

"Yes, yes, of course, Severus," the Headmaster replies with a hint of amusement in his voice. "I'm sure Miss Philips also has some homework she would like to get back to finishing."

I can't help but smirk slightly, but it disappears quickly as nerves set quickly back in. Why am I here?

"If you will recall, Miss Philips, on the first day we met, I mentioned that there were some other things I wished to discuss with you at a later date. That day was such an overwhelming day, however, that I would not be surprised if you do not remember."

Dumbledore pauses at this point and I wrinkle my forehead a little in thought, but it was as though his remark had a magical effect on my memory. The words come into my head almost as if he had just spoken them. We have more matters to discuss there which would not be safe to discuss here. I nod, encouraging him to continue.

More silence follows my nod, and I am confused as to what is going on. I turn and look toward what is hopefully Professor Snape, perhaps he will fill me in.

"I apologize, Miss Philips, I forget you cannot see me looking thoughtful," the Headmaster interrupts my thoughts, and I turn my head back towards him. "I am merely pondering exactly where I should start. There isn't particularly a lot to cover, but it is all interconnected, so I'm trying to determine the best way to approach the subject."

I nod again, still confused, but a least I know I am not the cause for silence. I have moved up to perch myself on the edge of the chair and daintily sip from my tea cup. My mother would have been proud. Hell, my father would have been fooled at my display of decorum.

"Professor Snape has informed me that you have been approached and seem to have a certain amount of camaraderie with Mr. Jude Theophilus," Headmaster Dumbledore begins without preamble, and the non sequitor mention of Jude makes me sit even straighter at attention. My mind races through the dark, trying to figure out where this conversation is heading.

"Mr. Theophilus is certainly an engaging and intelligent young man, and I have no doubt he has been very friendly and a great help to you in your condition. However, the fact is, Miss Philips, is that Mr. Theophilus has been enlisted by Lord Voldemort to gain your confidence in hopes of using certain...abilities you harbour."

I cough out, rather unattractively, the tea I had just sipped daintily into my mouth. What the hell was going on? What 'abilities' did I possess? Why would the Dark Lord want me? Jude hadn't struck me as the evil type.

"I'm sorry," I finally manage, "are you trying to tell me Jude is a Death Eater?"

"Yes."

"And he's trying to...enlist my help?"

"Yes."

"Because I have some special ability You-Know-Who wants?"

"That is correct."

I close my eyes and let my hands rest limply in my lap. The pressure and homework surrounding the N.E.W.T.s is finally taking its toll. I am having conspiracy-theory dreams. All that needs to happen now is the confession that my entire life has been a lie; I had only lived as a Muggle so they could more easily brainwash me into assassinating top Ministry of Magic officials.

I open my eyes again, feeling vaguely ill.

"I'm sorry. I can't drink any more tea." I hold out my cup and saucer and someone takes it from me. "I'm afraid I don't know quite how to respond to this. Am I supposed to respond?"

"Listening is all that is required. Are you ready for me to go on?"

I take a deep breath. "Let's try this once more from the top. Jude is a Death Eater. Jude is a Death Eater who has been told or ordered or whatever by You-Know-Who to get me because I have some sort of ability I apparently don't know about," I take another deep breath. "What's the ability?"

"Ah, excellent question, Miss Philips. And from here, we must go back even further. To your mother."

My mother, I mouth the words silently.

"Your mother had the same ability you do," Snape interjects testily. "You inherited it from her...presumably."

"What?" I say, beginning to panic. "How do you know this? Why do you know and I don't? Why does everyone know about my mother except me?!" I shut my mouth with a click of teeth; that phrase I had meant to keep in my head slipped out in my alarm and anger and confusion. "I apologize," I mutter quietly, gaining back my self control, "please continue explaining."

"I'm not sure if I am the one who should be explaining this," Dumbledore pauses inexplicably, "but I will proceed nonetheless. As you know, there are people who have the ability to See into the future, to divine what is to come. To See truly what is to come is a rare gift. Your mother's ability is rarer still; she is able to look into the past and see what has already been and watch it and live it as if she were truly there. She was a thymoumai, a Remembrancer."

My forehead wrinkles in thought, "But how does that help anything? Why would You-Know-Who want an ability like that? Simply to spite you so you wouldn't have it yourself?"

"Use your brain, if you please, Miss Philips," Professor Snape breaks in sharply. "No doubt you have heard the saying, 'Those who do not know their history are doomed to repeat it?' Not only is it a valuable asset to actually be able to live and recall that history, a Remembrancer can watch for tiny details, listen to conversations, have access to materials no longer in existence, see real life as it happened. You can uncover things that were best left buried in the past. It is in the details where one should search for the answers, something like that is no doubt the Dark Lord's plan."

"And I have inherited this obscure talent?" I reply disbelievingly.

"Voldemort is counting on it," the Headmaster answers quietly.

"Then it's not for sure?" my voice rises in panic. "He's trying to lure me into his grasp because he hopes I've inherited this ability from my mum? And I suppose if he discovers I don't hold this talent he'll just kill me. Isn't he worried that my half-Muggle blood will dilute this past-seeing ability? Isn't this just abso-bloody-lutely fantastic. Oh my God...." I let my head drop down with the weight of these thoughts, my right hand automatically coming up and making the sign of the cross.

My father had insisted on my being raised Catholic, so I had been sprinkled as a baby, been schooled in the catechism, and been confirmed when I came of age, despite the fact that my family knew I was a witch. Ironically all this religion trained me to be a much better liar than I would have ever been otherwise. Luckily for me my father had never been a particularly devout believer and after my confirmation I only had to attend mass twice a year, once at Christmas and again at Easter. My childhood catechism and other ideas and views on such matters I had run across at school had left me with only vague ideas on my feelings about God and religion in general, and my thoughts on it were neither here nor there at this point in my life; despite all this jumble in my head, crossing myself had stuck with me, and I still did it at times of great duress.

"But the fact is Voldemort is still willing to take that chance with you."

"Fine," I say, pushing aside all the thoughts trying to get my complete attention and trying to remain calm and feel in control of the situation, "but did you just call me here to scare me half to death? What happens from here?"

"A little fear never hurt anyone, especially if it prepares them for what is to come," Dumbledore says gently. "If it were as simple as Mr. Theophilus trying to gain your confidence, then you could simply avoid him, and you could be closely and easily watched while in attendance here. There is another twist to all of this, however," I cross myself again. "Professor Snape is also working under Voldemort, but as a double agent, and he has instructed Professor Snape to also help Mr. Theophilus with this operation."

"Okay," I say cautiously, thinking, What, does this mean I won't have Potions anymore?

"When your mother died, and your father forfeited his right as your parent, it was in your mother's will that your guardian be Professor Snape until you come of age."

It is as though that Lethargian Brew had blown up in my face once more. Not only am I stunned, it feels as though my whole body is going numb, including any emotion I had been feeling before. All the ideas that had been jostling for my attention are suddenly gone, leaving my mind blank. I only have room for one emotion: utter astonishment.

Headmaster Dumbledore continues speaking as though I am not shellshocked. "Voldemort knows this, and if Professor Snape cannot deliver you to him then this will result in deadly consequences, which, unfortunately we cannot allow to happen. This, of course, means that we are left with little choice but to allow you to be taken into Voldemort's ranks. Fortunately, Voldemort does not understand all the mysteries of a Remembrancer, none do except Remembrancers themselves, and he will have much to learn from you to get what he wants. Your mother did a lot of work advancing the understanding of the art; she even developed a potion that helps a Remembrancer slip more easily into the past. Voldemort will no doubt want you to pick up where she left off. There will be much to do to prepare you for this apparently inevitable meeting, and even the preparation may not help.

"I understand this is a lot to ask of a person, especially one in her final year of school and with the N.E.W.T.s on the way, among many other stresses. This must be your choice to do this, which is more than what Voldemort would give you. If you wish to have no part in this, then I can arrange for you to be...spirited away, disappear from the wizarding world. I can do this, with little chance of extreme retribution being visited upon Professor Snape by Voldemort, if you wish. You would, however, be taken out of your studies and be forced to live outside the wizarding world once again with no contact with anyone. It could be many years before it would be safe for you to come back."

I feel as though my breath has been taken away. If I could see, I know this would be one of those times where everything becomes sharper and more real than you ever thought possible. As it is, it seems that every sound, or lack thereof, in the room becomes more intense. The whirrs and clicks of things I had heard upon entering the headmaster's office, steady breathing and faint snoring from unknown sources, a ticking clock, the rustle of my robes. The chair I am sitting in becomes horribly real and the stone floor beneath my feet terrifyingly solid. Life never seems more real than when one feels on the brink of insanity.

My mind scrambles to make sense of all that I have just heard. Blow, after blow, after blow, after blow, and now this. To leave again when I had only just rejoined; to cut ties when I was just beginning make friends; to cut short my studies when I was so close to the end and finding a job. Surely there wasn't a god after all, and if there were, it was a cruel one. And my other option was to go into service for the Dark Lord. I wanted to laugh hysterically, burst into to tears, and scream at the top of my lungs all at once. And Professor Snape is my legal guardian, for crying out loud. It was too much. I was simply going to be overwhelmed by my thoughts and be swept off the grounds of reason and on to clouds of madness. Is this how people feel when they go crazy?

The Headmaster's and Professor's silence weigh heavily in the air, and I feel the expectation of an answer, like disciples waiting for their prophet to speak.

"Oh my God," I say again, and bury my face in my hands.

I sit for a long time like that. The noises in the room soon become silent to my ears as I concentrate harder and harder, focusing my thoughts on making a decision. It comes down to this: should I forfeit my life once again to the nonexistence of being a recluse of the wizarding world or forfeit my life by serving the Dark Lord. There are actually positives for either decision: I could actually have a chance of living to a decent age even if it would be in obscurity; on the other hand, I could actually live before a probable early death.

Very slowly, I unclench my hands from the fists they had become and move my hands away from my face. I sit up straight and let my shoulders droop, finally looking up.

"Can I--may I--have twenty-four hours to make my decision?" I say, tiredly.

"You may," the Headmaster responds, quietly. "I might have been concerned if you had made up your mind in such a short time. Severus, if you would be so kind to bring Miss Philips by my office again tomorrow night at the same time. We will discuss the plans that will follow either decision."

"As you wish, Headmaster," Professor Snape says.

He's my guardian, I think.

I stand up, ready to get out of this room. "Good night, then, Headmaster."

Professor Snape takes my arm and bids Dumbledore a good night as well.

As we are leaving, Headmaster Dumbledore says, "Good night. Choose true, Madeline."

Right, I think as we leave. So, choosing well isn't an option, only choosing true.