The Girl in the Tower

The Girl in the Tower

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Chapter Twenty-three: Moonlight Sonata

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Journal Entry, May 27th

Dear Sara,

It's been so long now; I don't know what to think. Your packages have slowed from three or four a week to as many a month. Your song on the wind comes sporadically when you once sang to me every night. Are you forgetting about me? Are you losing interest? It's a fear I have as time passes. That you'll remain in my thoughts as you do now, every day, but that I will fade from your memory. There could be no worse fate.

What are you doing all this time? The flowers have bloomed, the world is green again and the students have taken the O.W.L.S. I gave my final exam today. Soon it will be a year. You've been gone far too long, Sara. I miss you! Everyone said it would get easier as I went along, but they were wrong. The misery I feel at the thought of you is every bit as painful as it was at first; it has just become easier to hide. I only hope you come home soon.

And a home we will have! We could live in the many rooms I carved under the house. And the house itself is under construction! The whole front, three stories high is up, the base for the little tower is in and the ells are sealed off with sheets of plastic while they build the rear part of the house. That half isn't even started, as the front half is nothing more than stone walls, bare bones really, and needs plumbing and wiring still.

I changed the design a bit to include a massive lobby modeled after the room in which I take my fencing lessons. It's cool, you'll love it. It takes up a good deal of the second floor, but it's well worth it. Thirty foot ceiling and six pillars down the center in pairs! There will eventually be marble floors and Brad is arranging for the work to be done. You're family was lucky to have him, Sara. He's indispensable and understands our need for secrecy in certain matters. He only solicits Irish and Scottish contractors. Because of him, the front half of the house will be done by the end of summer and the shell of the back should be erected by then, too. I think, by next summer, we'll be planting the courtyard gardens together. Unless you decide to call it off after what I tell you next.

There is something that weighs heavy on my mind and has since December. The Yule ball, actually. I left the Great Hall in search of solitude when Ginny found me, alone and sulking in the tower. I was upset over your absence and angry, if I recall, and somehow I ended up kissing Ginny again. It was very short, as I immediately came to my senses but the fact that it happened at all has bothered me ever since. What does it mean? I still love you as I always have and I have the same platonic feelings for Ginny.

In fact, she hates me now. We've barely spoken in six months and spend no time together. This was my doing. I was cold to her after that, though I had no reason to be. She had done nothing wrong. I suppose I see her as a threat to what I have with you, which I would rather die than compromise.

I wish I didn't have to tell you this at all, but you're right. Without honesty between us, there can be no hope for anything. Besides, I've had enough of secrets. Not that it's a secret here at Hogwarts, anyway. I'm sure half of England knows. You've probably read about it in Witch Weekly.

I paid for this mistake in the most humiliating of ways. First, I got a Howler while preparing for my last Monday class; the one Ginny is in. Ron and Hermione took turns yelling at me for nearly a minute. I ran to my office with it - but not soon enough. Several students had already come in and a good lot of them were just outside the door and heard the whole thing. I went on with the lesson, pretending nothing out of the ordinary had happened, though the snickers and grins I received were humiliating. On top of that, as if it weren't enough, I approached Ginny at dinner a month later, after ignoring her completely. I only wanted to apologize, but she promptly stood and threw her pumpkin juice in my face. The hall erupted with laughter and I could have died right then and there. Thankfully, McGonagall rushed right over and dragged me off, but first she took 20 points from her own house and gave Ginny detention. I asked her not to but she said it wasn't my decision.

I understand if you hate me for what I did, as long as you know that it was nothing to me, just a serious lack of judgment (not that I thought about it beforehand,) which quickly drove me from the room. I really can't explain. All I could think about was you. All night you dominated my memory and I was in a state when Ginny found me. I was lonely. Pathetic really, and she was the only friend I had in the world just then. My doubts and my frustration with your long absence were tearing me apart and I don't know what I was thinking. Perhaps I needed to see if I still loved you as much as I thought I did? Don't worry Sara, I do.

Other than what I mentioned, there is very little news. Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup, much to my disappointment. We had such a great record going, but the new Gryffindor team is young, having lost most of its players in the last two years. Britney is aces as a Chaser and I coach her whenever I think no one's looking. I have hope for them for next season.

Snape has been unusually chipper ever since he returned from summer holiday all sun-streaked and smug as ever, then again over Christmas. He was gone the whole week and returned wearing new robes and with a fresh tan. He's been dressing better and keeps his hair trimmed. I swear; he almost looks human with a little color. He was always so pale. All I could think of was that old movie, "The People Under the Stairs." For a month or so after one of his clandestine journeys, he's in a positively splendid mood. I think he might be seeing a woman or something. Either that or he's found the mother of all potions labs in Majorca.

As for me, I don't know what I'll be doing this summer. Longer lessons with Dumbledore, more hours with Seamus. More time with Roland (who I can hold off indefinitely, but can't win against.) Ron and I have tickets to the Quidditch World Cup. Somehow, England got a decent team together and they're currently semi-finalists. Ireland already has their spot, so it may be a UK game. Either way, it's England's turn to host. Hermione refused to tag along. I'm somewhat glad, too. She was always an enthusiastic spectator at school, but she despises the game. All she does is nag me about my hair, anyway. It's grown to my shoulders and it looks weird, but I like it. Maybe I'll keep it a while if you like it too.

I can't help thinking you'll come back to me soon. The last day of school. The one-year anniversary of the night you left. I have the strongest feeling about it. I wasn't going to mention it, just in case I'm wrong, but it just seems right to me. I hope so, Sara. I'll be waiting.

Love, Harry

* * *

Wearing Sara's favorite green jumper, (which was showing signs of age from being worn every few days,) comfortable jeans, and bare feet, Harry took his seat at the end of the Head Table. Since the train had taken the students away early that morning, the chairs now faced each other instead of the empty hall. Harry was relieved at this. He'd spent the last six months catching Ginny's hateful glances from the Gryffindor table. Though, her departure left him feeling guilty and the situation was still unresolved. He'd been afraid to approach her after the incident with the pumpkin juice.

He was glad the students were gone. Harry had come to relish the quiet and the solitude. He liked to be alone with his thoughts. To wander the halls uninterrupted by a friendly greeting or a group noisy third years. To no longer bear the responsibility of teaching, leaving him with more time for his training, the Swill Factory and the house. And for Sara, who he thought he might see tonight. Harry held out hope for her return, looked forward to the passing of hours with a secret exhilaration, an anticipation he dared not fully believe - but yet he did. He had the strangest feeling.

The stirring melody of Beethoven's soft, passionate ode to nighttime, Moonlight Sonata, drifted through his head as he remembered their last night together. She loved to play this song in the night and they often danced together on the roof under the stars in their pajamas, silent, enjoying the closeness that calmed and pacified the soul. The sound of this smooth and haunting dark eloquence had surrounded them the last time he'd seen her, looking up at him in the light of the moon that spilled in through the glass, her eyes so trusting, her hand touching his face, whispering the word he'd waited so long to hear. He hadn't thought it possible to feel so much, to love someone so completely than he had then, or to have it returned so equally.

Harry let himself fall into the memory. Her hair pooled around her in a sea of black and gold, the emotion in her kiss, in her touch. He hoped they would have more nights like that but ones which ended with waking up to the dawn and the sight of her sleeping face beside him on the pillow. Their fingers entwined between them.

"What are you daydreaming about, Potter?" Snape mused. "By the look on your face, I can only imagine who."

Harry straightened up. "I wasn't daydreaming."

"Then you were ignoring the headmaster? Perhaps you'd like to explain why you've failed to answer his question."

"I was just thinking." Harry turned his eyes to Dumbledore. "I'm sorry, sir. I wasn't listening."

"It wasn't important." Dumbledore smiled. "Ah, dinner is here."

Harry picked at his food as he thought about last night. He'd waited for Sara on the roof, falling asleep in a chaise lounge around daybreak, wrapped in a heavy robe. It was agonizing, for she failed to show with every tick of his father's watch. It was then that he realized Sara had left in the early morning hours, so the date of her departure did not expire until this midnight, and he was almost certain.

"I assumed you'd be gone by now, Snape."

"In the morning, actually." Snape smirked. "My friend is traveling and won't be settled until then."

"Traveling," Harry said, his mind racing, the word striking a connection that in turn sparked his anger. He glared at Snape. "Why didn't I see it before! You're going to see Sara!"

Snape looked surprised, fumbling for a way out. He said nothing.

Dumbledore raised his brows. "Severus? Is that true?"

Snape wanted to defend himself but lowered his eyes in an admission of guilt.

"You bastard," Harry growled. "How dare you not tell us?"

"It's none of your business where I go and whom I see, Potter. How dare you address me in such a manner."

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would like to know how his niece is doing." Harry looked to Dumbledore, who appeared less than pleased.

He met Harry's eyes and turned his attention back to Snape. "I think we would all like to know if Sara is well, Severus."

"She's better." Snape sighed and tossed his napkin onto his plate. "She still has her days but, on the whole, I think she has improved from when I first saw her."

Dumbledore breathed relief.

Harry narrowed his eyes, furious that Snape had known all this time and had left them all in the dark. "Where is she?"

"If she wanted you to know, I'm sure she would tell you. It's not my place to divulge her whereabouts. Not like I would tell you if it was."

"Severus!" Dumbledore grew angry. "Harry has as much right to ask after Sara as I do. She has been gone a year now without word and every person at this table is worried about her. I suggest you answer our questions."

"I won't tell you where she is. I gave my word."

"How she is will suffice."

"She's depressed." Snape pictured Sara with her black hair, but refused to tell the headmaster about that. It was the most troubling thing about Sara and it would send his worry into near panic. "She cries a lot but she deals with her problems. It will please you to know that I haven't seen her drink more than a single glass of wine. Not once."

Harry smiled at this. He had his fears about Sara and her willingness to drown her sorrow.

Dumbledore looked relieved. "Yes, Severus. That is good news."

"She shops sometimes and buys strange items I never see again. I think she mails them off, I don't know. I see her writing for hours in a book but she won't tell me what about."

At this, Harry's smile widened.

"Does she ever sing?" Dumbledore wondered, concerned that she wasn't using her emotional outlet - which would be a bad sign indeed.

"Mostly at night, but yes. I've heard her many times. And there was one occasion while in Venice. Sara and I were having dinner in a dim little cafe when she left her chair without a word, went onto the riser and started playing the piano."

"Splendid." Dumbledore smiled.

Harry, who had listened in silence, spoke up, his voice hushed and thoughtful. "What did she play?"

"Beethoven," Snape growled in reply.

"The Moonlight Sonata?"

"I guess so. Classical music is not my specialty." Snape turned back to Dumbledore. "Anyway, she received a standing ovation and ducked back to her seat. It seemed to me she forgot there were others present."

Dumbledore gave a brief nod of understanding, but Harry spoke up again. "I'll bet she played with her eyes closed."

"She did. Who cares?" Snape was tired of answering to Harry because it was Harry's fault the headmaster was angry. Snape resented being told to respond to Potter's stupid, insignificant questions and thought he'd retaliate, just a little bit. "The nicest young man came to sit at our table. He was a musician and seemed quite taken with Sara."

"Severus..." Dumbledore warned, but Snape pushed ahead.

"He also played the piano. Obviously, the two of them had a lot in common and fell into a discussion that lasted more than an hour. In fact, he began frequenting the palazzo. He took to playing a keyboard while Sara sang along. I think they were really hitting it off."

"Nice try, Snape," Harry hissed, jealous and feeling his anger rise.

"It's the truth, I assure you. I'll be happy to take a Veritaserum if necessary."

Harry realized Snape wasn't lying about the musician, but he refused to believe Sara met the man's visits with romantic interest. He also realized that Sara had asked Snape to postpone his trip until tomorrow, meaning there was a very good chance she meant to return to Hogwarts this very evening. She had to know the school year was over and Snape was free to leave this morning. Why tomorrow? Harry smirked, thinking Snape was about to be proven wrong - if his instincts were right anyway.

"Well, you didn't really think an attractive young girl like Sara would stay single all this time, did you, Potter? I've never seen her go out unescorted." He was thinking of the Muggle, Sanders, who went everywhere with Sara but thought he'd forget to mention that little fact. "I knew you were naive but I had no idea you thought her life stood still. Just because time stopped for you a year ago, it doesn't mean Sara's wasting her days as you are, waiting for someone to return. Someone who may never come back. At least not to you."

Dumbledore's voice was a hushed whisper. "That's enough, Severus."

Harry stared at his plate, his hands twisting in his lap. "You're a liar." He raised his eyes to Snape's.

Snape's face split in a large smile and he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "That's what you think."

"Why are you saying these things?"

"I hate to see you wasting your time in such a way. Trusting fool though you are."

Harry leapt to his feet, toppling his chair. "Sara is never a waste of my time!"

Snape stood, casual, rearranging his robe before turning back to Harry. "Even I was surprised by how easily she seemed to forget about you. Don't take it personally, Potter. She only wanted to let you down easy."

"Shut-up," Harry fumed. "Am I supposed to believe that she told you all of this?"

"Some things are obvious, except maybe to you. You don't even realize you've been dumped. Cast aside. It's as it should be. She's above you anyway."

Harry drew his wand and pointed it at Snape. His voice was at the edge of control and restraining fury. "Sara's no Slytherin."

"No, but tell me, when was the last time you heard from your faithful Sara? In fact, isn't Draco also missing without word? I do recall the two of them being rather close. Especially on one occasion which I remember quite clearly."

"What are you trying to say? That they're together?" Harry gave an angry laugh, incredulous, but worried beyond reason. It seemed Snape was voicing every secret fear he had and was passing it off as fact. "I'll never believe it. Sara loves me. She wouldn't lie about that."

"Believe whatever you want but, if you think she's all alone and pining for you, you're more foolish than I thought."

Harry threw down his wand, grabbed Snape by the throat and slammed him up against a pillar. Snape, caught off guard, failed to reach his wand and was without defense. Harry's eyes burned with rage, his teeth clenched. "Say one more word about her, just one and I'll kill you."

Snape's eyes widened and Harry felt a fury he'd never known as he pushed hard against Snape's throat, leaving him gasping for breath. A cold stillness, an alien satisfaction flooded his being and his grip was iron as it tightened.

Dumbledore and McGonagall were on their feet, unsure of what to do. Severus had pushed Harry toward a confrontation and now it seemed he had what he'd wanted, only he was choking and Harry smiled with a frightening implication of vengeance. A faint greenish-silver light clung to his scar.

The look on the teachers' faces turned grave. Dumbledore took a step forward but Minerva grabbed his arm.

"Albus," she whispered. "Don't touch him."

Dumbledore looked at her with uncompromising eyes. "I shall never fear Harry Potter."

The old wizard laid a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder as Snape's eyes rolled back in his head. "Harry. That's enough."

Harry felt himself back up a step, could feel the slight pressure of a hand pulling him away, heard the headmaster's voice and watched as Snape fell into his chair, gasping for air, but he felt aloft, not himself. This was his anger but, somewhere, his sense of reason had stepped aside. Confused, he turned to Dumbledore, who stood regarding him with patience and understanding. Their eyes met and Harry felt lost, dazed and surreal. He looked at his hand as if it were foreign, the greenish glow faded from his scar as if it had only been a trick of the light. Harry dropped his hand to his side, taking in a shocked and nervous breath. His voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I would never..." Harry turned and walked from the room, slow, stunned, taking the stairs one at a time until he vanished from sight.

Snape's voice was raspy and strained as he recovered in his chair, a hand lingering about his throat. "Did you see..."

"Yes, Severus," Albus said as he stared at the passage down which Harry had gone, his expression grim. "I certainly did."

* * *

Harry sat alone on the roof of the tower, staring out at the stars. He was lost in thought, horrified over what happened at dinner, wondering where the rage had come from. It swallowed him, transformed him into someone with whom he was not familiar. It was a side of himself he never knew existed. He got mad all the time, even felt compelled to fight with Draco, but he'd never wanted to kill anyone.

He despised Snape and felt justified in becoming angry over the way Snape spoke of Sara, but when had he decided to choke him? He had no memory of it. One minute he was standing there, the next his hand was around the man's throat. But, more than that, it was the feelings he'd had. The thrill, the satisfaction. He was ashamed of himself, didn't even know where to begin apologizing. He wondered if he even could.

Harry was not surprised when Dumbledore made his way onto the roof. Harry didn't turn around, only sat where he was, his troubled eyes fixed on the sky and full of shame. "I understand if you want me to leave."

"I think you know me better than that, Harry." Dumbledore took the chair next to his. "Relocating the problem doesn't solve anything."

"I don't know what happened, sir." He hung his head. "I have no idea."

"Are you sure about that? See, I think you have at least a little knowledge of the source of your anger."

"But I don't! I can't stand Snape. I threaten to kill him all the time but I would never really do it! I didn't even feel like myself. It was as if I was standing aside, watching my hand move on its own, thinking someone else's thoughts."

"I have noticed in the past year or so that you've developed a rather short fuse."

"I know. And I don't understand that either. I've gotten into fights with Draco. I even got mad at Hermione once and she hadn't deserved it. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Tell me, what is it that triggers such a response in you? What seems to be the catalyst?"

Harry thought for a moment, realizing that every time he'd lost his temper, or even came close, it always had to do with the same thing. "Sara."

"Precisely, Harry. It is normal for a teenaged boy to go through such a stage, just as it is normal to want to protect the ones we love above all others."

"Yet I'm quite certain it is not normal to attempt murder over something as ludicrous as what Snape was saying. I didn't believe a word of it."

"Yes, true. Very true." Dumbledore stroked his beard, remembering the faint glow on Harry's scar. "But most people do not share the powers of the dark lord. Voldemort is a wizard who enjoys violence. Perhaps a bit of that rubbed off on you, too."

"You can't blame what I did on Voldemort. I let Snape get to me, sir. I wanted to strike out at someone and he's always good for that. But I never wanted to hurt him. Or anyone else for that matter. Not unless I have no other choice."

"I think you need to find a way to manage your emotions, Harry. You are not a violent person. You are simply a young man who has been through a tremendous amount of emotional stress and is going through a phase. I assure you, it will go away."

"I hope you're right."

"Trust me." Dumbledore smiled. "If you find yourself having such feelings again, I do hope you'll remember to control yourself."

"I'm sorry, sir." Harry hung his head.

"If you feel that control slipping away, I suggest you leave the room before we find our Potions professor in several pieces. Walk away, Harry." Dumbledore smiled and let an affectionate hand pat Harry's shoulder. "I'll see you in the morning. Let's plan for a late start. After lunch let's say. Sleep in, you could use some rest with the schedule you keep."

"Yes, Professor." Harry acquiesced, but didn't move from his chair. "Good night."

Dumbledore wore a worried expression as he glanced back at Harry's forlorn shape, black against the moon, head bowed, shoulders slumped. Dumbledore sighed when he saw the bed was back on the roof. He let himself out.

* * *

Harry stood and paced the roof. The moon had crossed the sky and there was but a few fleeting minutes left of the night. He waited many hours there for Sara, ever hoping the very next moment would be a joyous one. Time ticked off on his wrist as he'd watched the sky, the only sound in the silence except that of the wind and an occasional creature of the night. With impatience, he watched for a faint glimmer of satin in the distance, thinking every passing bird was his old Firebolt in the dark.

Harry looked down at his green jumper and old Saturday jeans. His feet were warm against the stone and a balmy breeze drifted up from the lake. He rested against the wall and let it brush the hair from his face. His heart sank like lead in his chest as the sun broke the horizon.

The day was new again. Sara wasn't coming.

His slumped shoulders and sad, dejected eyes revealed his disappointment as Harry climbed onto the coverlet and clutched Sara's pillow to his chest. He stared at the empty side of their bed, feeling a lump rise in his throat. He couldn't cry. Didn't have the strength to. It was just his hope that she would come home that had led him to believe so strongly. And it was a foolish thought at that. He got the feeling he would never see her beautiful face again, never rejoice in her laughter or delight in her smile. Once again, Snape's words drifted through his mind and it was with them that Harry crashed into troubled dreams.

* * *

Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata played on repeat, soft, mesmerizing, as it had throughout the night and Sara watched from the window, closed and locked, as the sun came up. She'd been unable to sleep and now resumed her seat on a steamer trunk, looking around at her luggage with an immense sigh. She'd thought of Harry all night, which wasn't unusual, but she'd felt driven to go home and even held the Portkey in her hands for well over an hour at some point. She wondered why he was so heavy on her mind, but she knew the answer. Because he was thinking about her, too. He wanted her to return and Sara could feel his need and his desperation.

This knowledge brought her the greatest anguish, for she longed to see him, and her Uncle Albus, and Minerva and Hagrid, Ron and Hermione. She missed them so much, missed Hogwarts and the cottage. She missed Draco. A year had passed since she'd left them all and it seemed a lifetime. Staying away was never more difficult, but she wasn't ready to go home.

She heard Mr. Sanders clamoring about in his room and stood. It was time to minimize her belongings and prepare for the journey. Sara went about the task with an exhausted sigh, partially from her sleepless night, mostly from her many recent moves.

Sara and Greg stayed in many cities in the past few months. Florence, Berlin, Oslo, Barcelona, Lisbon, Moscow, Marseille, Athens, and several others. She had been in so many cities they tended to blend together but she'd been careful to keep her distance from the British Isle. Getting too close would test her resolve. Best to stay away altogether.

She sent packages when she could but Sara rarely ventured out and she only used rented owls. She didn't want to attract too much attention as long as she was being watched. It was at night when she sensed their presence but she'd been followed during the day as well. She'd voiced her challenge more than once, pushing her thoughts at them, daring them to come out and face her, but there was never an answer. They stayed in the shadows though she felt their menace.

Moving seemed to be the best idea. It usually took them weeks to find her, though she rarely got a decent night's sleep. The smallest noises disturbed her, sending her bolt upright with a gasp and a tremor of fear. A branch tapping against the window in the breeze, the moans of an old house, Topenga stirring in her cage, Greg turning over in bed in the next room... Everything woke her it seemed. She could only wonder how long it would be before she found out what they wanted.

This morning, however, she was alone. The three who'd taken sentry last night had gone no more than fifteen minutes ago and it was almost time for her to slip out of Prague and into Austria.

Greg was dressed and shaven when he came in, eyes tired, coffee in hand and a cup of tea for her as well. She smiled at his small gesture.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he handed it to her. Her weary eyes and heavy expression worried him.

"If you were in love with a girl and she left you in the middle of the night, refused to write, refused to see you, but promised to return, would you grow to hate her, Greg?"

"It depends. I suppose if I loved her enough, I always would, but I can't say I wouldn't have my moments."

Sara gave him a disheartened smile.

"What's on your mind, Sara?" He set down his mug. "Do you finally want to talk about it? I'll respect your wishes but I'm tired of pretending he doesn't exist."

"I miss him, Greg. There are no words to describe how I miss him."

"Then go see him. I'll take you back to England this minute if you want."

After her long, sleepless night of feeling Harry's pain and her own, Sara snapped. Her voice rang out through the empty rooms, her cup of tea smashed against the wall with a liquid crash. "I can't! Don't you understand? I can't go home, okay?"

"I'm sorry!" Greg was quick to sputter, though his eyes had grown wide as a small red streak melted down the side of her black hair. The floor trembled and a blast of wind rattled the windows and toppled things in the yard. "Sara, I didn't mean it."

"I don't care what you meant!" she yelled. "You don't know how I feel! You don't know anything!"

"I'm just trying to be a friend! We've been pretending Harry doesn't exist for too long and all it does is make things harder on both of us. Especially you. You need to talk about it!"

"Who are you to presume to know what I need?" Sara shouted. "And for your information, I do talk about it, just not with you!"

"Go home! Enough of this running away!"

"I CAN'T!"

"Sara, something strange is happening." Sanders swallowed hard. "Your hair is changing colors and I think we're having an earthquake."

Realizing the extent of her anger, Sara ran from the room and slammed the door when she reached her own private space. She fell on the bed and sobbed into her pillow, horrified by the way she'd treated Greg - who only wanted to help - overwhelmed by her grief and her desire to see Harry.

The tremors gave way to a thunderstorm that darkened the sky but there was no hurricane. Sara had learned to moderate the energy that flowed from her but couldn't control it completely. The winds raged, but the windows did not break. Lightning did not strike the trees in the yard.

Sara calmed and so did the weather, first turning to a steady rain, then a light shower until it all but stopped. The morning sun peeked out from behind the clouds and she dried her eyes.

There was a soft knock at the door and Greg poked his head in. There was an apology in his expression, along with a seriousness she had never seen in him before. When he saw she was receptive to his presence he opened the door and stepped into the room, coming to stand before her. "What are you?"

"Just a girl." Sara tried to smile.

"I may not be the smartest guy on the planet, but I'm not stupid, or blind for that matter. Shrinking luggage. Freak storms, earthquakes, strange Professors who show up in mere seconds. I won't even mention your hair, which is scientifically and biologically impossible. Radios that turn on by themselves, birds who carry your mail. I demand to know. Tell me or I'm leaving."

Sara sighed, knowing this moment was inevitable. She had decided that, if he asked, she would tell him, even though it broke the first rule of the wizarding world. However, she refused to use a memory charm on Mr. Sanders. She just couldn't do it. Besides, if he knew, they could travel by broom and life in general would be a lot less complicated.

"I'm a witch, Greg."

"A witch?"

"That's right. There are things in this world that most people don't know exist."

"So you cast spells on people and make brews and stuff? Sorry, but this just isn't sinking in." He gave a nervous laugh. "So I suppose you ride around on a broom and cackle?" He laughed again, incredulous.

Sara held out her hand. "Accio Firebolt." Greg backed up a quick step as it flew across the room and directly into her hands. "Finite."

Greg's eyes grew wide when the common kitchen broom turned into Harry's well-worn Firebolt. "As a matter of fact, yes. Only minus the cackling bit."

"You're not kidding, are you?"

"I assure you, I'm not. Now we have to leave here. Get your things. I shrunk them last night." Greg backed out of the room, looking stunned and Sara got herself together before hurrying to the lounge for the backpack full of luggage she'd left there. It was best to fly under cover of night but they would be watching then for sure and she wanted to see Severus. He would meet her this morning in Vienna and she could hardly wait. She missed her confidant, her friend, but mostly she wanted news on Harry.

A face in the window startled Sara. She gasped, backing up a step, her eyes glued to his. The man grinned at her, waved and then fled. Sara threw open the front door and ran out into the yard. A flash of movement in the trees caught her attention and she raced after it, using the wind to propel her along faster than she could run. As soon as she was within striking distance, she conjured her lightning and knocked the fleeing Death Eater off his feet.

He writhed in pain on the ground as she circled around him. "What do you want with me?" she demanded. "Why are you and your comrades following me? Did you really think you could pass undetected? I always know when you're there."

"Obviously not," he managed.

She realized he was right. In the midst of her anger and the crying fit that followed, one had come right up to the window without her knowledge. "What do you want?"

"Like I'd tell you."

"I know who sent you here to spy on me. I don't need anyone to tell me that. But you can take a message to your lord and master. The next of his kind I encounter will come back in pieces. Do you understand me?"

"I'll do nothing for you."

"There's more lightning where that came from. I won't kill you - you can be sure of that - but I hear it's rather painful." She grinned at the stranger, who had struggled into a reclined sitting position. His cloak was burned clean through near his shoulder and continued to smolder. Little tendrils of smoke curled up behind him. "On your feet. Now."

Sara gave him a little blast now and again when he slowed or moved too fast. By the time they reached the house, she'd learned they were after the spell book. There was more, but this he refused to tell.

Sanders hovered about in the lounge, unsure of what was going on and not knowing what to do. He paced, apprehensive, and asked questions that went unanswered. He watched in fascination as Sara enlarged her steamer trunk, opened it, cast a spell, and forced the strange, robed man into what appeared to be an entire room inside it. She slammed the lid and locked it as soon as he was in and then cast more spells to ensure he didn't escape. Once again, the trunk shrunk down to a little square and leapt back into her bag. This she shouldered and summoned the broom.

Sara swung her leg over and looked at Greg, wearing his own backpack full of shrunken belongings. "Get on."

He did, nervous, and off they went, him clinging to her waist, her determined to fly like the wind. Once again, she attempted to use it to push them forward, a newly discovered skill Vanya mentioned through the Celestone, which Sara hadn't yet mastered. There was only one person on her mind. The one who's council she badly needed. Severus.
* * *

Draco found he was lost in the underground network that Voldemort called home. They'd entered through an old ruined castle and he'd been trying to find the exit ever since. Now, here he was, miles from where he'd started and everything looked the same. Stone walls covered in slimy moss. Wooden doors. Acres and acres of them, all identical.

Tired from walking, he slid down the wall and rested, not caring about the dust that clung to his robe.

After Voldemort learned of his late night visit to Harry the previous summer, the very night he'd received the Dark Mark, Draco had been brought here and remained a prisoner, unable to escape and desperate for freedom. It had been nearly a year since he'd seen the sun and he longed for fresh air, and for the joys of his life that he'd taken for granted, like playing Quidditch. He would give every last Galleon he had for a single ride on his broom.

Even his ability to send owls had been taken away, but at least he'd gotten out that one postcard. He imagined what Potter's reaction must have been, receiving a postcard from Hell, and he smiled at his own wit. It had been so very long since he'd smiled last.

Remembering Harry and the last weeks they'd spent forming their strange friendship, an idea came to Draco and he brightened with renewed hope. It was in Harry's car, idle on the country roadside surrounded by cows that Harry had set his wand on his open hand and said, "Point me, London."

Draco stood at once. "Point me. Outside."

The wand led him down the tunnel and he followed it. Nearly an hour he walked and his hand ached from balancing the wand but he knew he was getting closer. The stone was older, the moss thicker, the doors petrified and different.

As he walked, Draco thought of freedom, of leaving behind the constant torture, the "training." Voldemort tried to break him in every conceivable way and Draco tried hard to retain his own beliefs and will, but he was now only a shadow of the Draco who had danced with Sara at the Yule Ball. He'd worn down and eventually tired of fighting the inevitable. At first, he only pretended to yield but, more and more often, he found himself believing what he was told and felt the hate his father had preached. He hated Sara more than ever. She'd stolen something from him that she could never give back and for which she could never atone. Something he wanted now more than ever.

His father's death should have fallen to him. Killing Lucius would have vindicated every wrong ever done to him and his mother but, since Sara had taken the task upon herself, Draco was left with the festering wounds that would never heal, denying him any sort of closure. He could attribute all the pain in his life to his father and now he would take this pain to his grave with nothing to be done. She'd ruined that for him. She'd ruined everything, including the part of him that felt love.

Draco had loved Sara more than anyone he'd ever known. She was the first person to give him respect out of friendship and not fear of retribution. It was a hard lesson to learn. Opening yourself to love and trusting another so completely was a harsh blow when that person chose betrayal over compassion. Sara had been convincing. He'd believed in her and would have died to protect her. And what had she done for him? Taken his only family and left him to deal with it alone. Shattered his trust in others. Placed the ring he'd given her next to his father's corpse and left his life forever.

Draco reached beneath his shirt and withdrew the small scarlet square she'd given him the last time he'd seen her. As he held it, the memory of that night flooded his senses. Sara holding his hand as they lay in his bed, the affection and pain in her eyes as she said her goodbye. She'd tried to warn him then, telling him he might never look on her the same way again, but he hadn't listened. She'd known he would hate her. She'd seen something in the orb and knew what was to come. He remembered her words as silent tears fell from her eyes. "Just know that I love you, Draco, for the friend you've been, and I'll always remember you as you are at this moment in time, no matter what becomes of us." He recalled her close embrace, could almost feel his arms around her, could almost smell her perfume as the lost affection flooded his heart and he clutched the Amidon, her voice echoing through his mind. Keep it close to you.

At some point, his eyes had fallen closed and, now that he opened them, Draco realized he was crying. He wiped at his face, knowing someday he would see her again, for she had said so herself. Draco looked forward to that day as equally as he dreaded it. He missed her, though he knew what the day would bring. He didn't need a crystal ball to tell him what fate would hold and, with a sigh, he dropped the Amidon under his shirt and opened the door before him.

The steps were drier toward the top, telling him he was heading in the right direction. They wound up and up in a wide spiral and Draco kept a hand on the stone beside him for balance as he hurried up them, careful to keep his thoughts locked behind a brick wall the way they'd learned at Hogwarts. He only hoped he could leave undetected.

It was night, much to his delight, and Draco fell onto the thick grass and rolled onto his back, looking up at the stars, breathing the air and smiling ever so slightly. He needn't run away. Voldemort would find him no matter how far he managed to get so he stayed right there on the ground outside the ruins, relishing this moment of freedom. His mind slipped back to another night. He was suddenly two places at once, looking up at the same sky from his place in the grass, and from the bed on Sara's roof as Harry tried to deal with his loss and his broken heart beside him. It was Harry whom he wanted to see. Only Harry understood what had happened to him and had somehow become his partner in misery.

A slippery voice came from behind him. "Commendable, Draco. No one's ever found the way out before. Tell me, how did you do it? I have to admit, I'm curious."

"I did go to school, you know," he said, afraid his moment of freedom had come to an end too soon. Draco didn't move from the cool of the grass, didn't take his eyes from the glittering night sky.

Voldemort circled around to look down at him. "I have never doubted your intelligence or your ability, son of Lucius. And it appears you have come to understand how much I can take from you, and how much I can give."

Draco said nothing.

"What are you thinking?"

"That you're going to take me back underground and keep me prisoner there until I conjure a big vat of poison and drown myself in it. I don't care if I never move from this spot again. I don't suppose you should move my skeleton if I die before I get up."

"What else?"

"Old friends. People I used to care about. People who I am now a danger to and can never see again. I'm thinking about how miserable my life is, how much I hate my father and how wrong everything has gone."

"I have a task for you, Draco. I think it's time for you to return to your life."

"My life is over."

"You have the wrong attitude. Perhaps you've stayed here too long. Your life isn't over; it's just taken a different and more rewarding direction. Tell me what you ended up with in your old life? What have these friends of yours ever given you?"

"Hope."

Voldemort was less than pleased with this response. "And how long did it take for them to turn their backs? I don't see anyone fighting for you, or even looking for you. I think we both know of whom I speak. You were forgotten. Besides, who needs a friendship based on pity?"

"You don't know anything. You don't know me."

"You came to me strong of will and as cunning and uncompromising as your father was. Now, here you are, a pathetic shell of Draco Malfoy. Feeling sorry for yourself and acting like a pitiful schoolboy. Your training was meant to open your eyes, not make you weak. Go home, Draco. Spend some time at your family's estate."

"Thank you," he whispered, his eyes falling closed to imagine what it would feel like to take a warm shower, to sleep in his own bed. "But what will it cost me?"

Voldemort laughed and it was a sinister sound. "There are some books that have come to my knowledge. Books of which I need to take possession. Two of them will be left to you."

Malfoy almost smiled when he learned what he was to do and thought the task set to him was right up his alley and would be rather fun. His outlook improved as Wormtail emerged from the ruins carrying a shiny silver racing broom and the rest of Draco's belongings. He slung the bag over his shoulder and climbed onto the Lightning Mach 1.

Into the night he flew, headed for London and the comfort of his rented home. His life as a Death Eater had begun.

* * *

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