Don't freak out, but I'm just going to leave this here. I have no idea if I will continue writing, but I felt like completing this last chapter and I missed Astoria. It is a much better ending for her. There are some Coldplay lyrics in here, and I don't own them. Enjoy the long chapter!

---

ON THE OTHER SIDE

Chapter 17: The Tale of Three Traitors, or "Trials and Tribulations"

Part 3: The Greengrass Trial, or "Adult Matters"

She always knew that adults made mistakes. She watched one adult grab the arm of another, hauling him around a corner. She followed.

"What is this? Some twisted act of revenge because she is her father's daughter and not her mother's?"

"This is hardly the time or place—"

"Because Daphne would never be condemned, because how could you condemn the image of your school love? But Astoria is the image of her father, my brother; she is his daughter, every bit as conniving and clever as he was. Thomas always took what he wanted—"

"You have no idea what you are talking about, Greengrass!"

"But I do, Macmillan, I do. So back down. Because you have already fought with the Greengrasses and the first time did not go so well. I can assure you—Astoria…"

She stood behind her uncle and Mr. Macmillan. All seemed to hold their breath.

"You look so much like him," the man whispered. "And he let her die…"

"My father did not let my mother die. They were murdered, the both of them," Astoria insisted. "And the time for punishing children for their parents' mistakes must stop. If that is not persuasion enough, perhaps you ought to ask your son who saved him when his leg was broken and a Death Eater had a wand pointed at his face."

"Ernie…?"

"Yes, that one." The man's eyes widened.

"But… but I can't stop it! It's already begun! They will try you as an adult."

"But I am sixteen."

"I know. I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do… It's all set in motion. Sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

---

(Politik)

"Open up your eyes, Astoria!" Alastair shouted. She could hardly move, but he paced the floor. "They will charge you as an adult. You cannot just go into the courtroom without a plan or representation!"

Astoria focused on breathing. Victor had steered her toward a chair at the news. Daphne continued to sniffle.

"But I am sixteen."

"These trials are not just about justice Astoria; others seek revenge. How could Augusta allow this? I will be writing a very, very resentful letter to her and when I find the bastard who concocted this fool-hearty plan, I will hunt him down and—"

"I should think it would be a bit hypocritical to seek revenge, Alastair," Victor said soothingly, placing a hand on his partner's shoulder.

Astoria could produce no emotion. Her uncle was usually much like herself—reserved, cold, all emotions bottled up—but he had sprung into furious action.

"I will represent you," Alastair decided.

"Is that a good idea?" Victor arched a brow.

"Why can I not represent myself since they see me as an adult and I have done just fine representing myself for the past sixteen years?" Astoria asked, unable to muster her usual disdainful sarcasm.

"She has a point," Daphne added.

"You are a child!" Alastair bellowed. "You are a child and my niece—" his voice broke off and Astoria suddenly felt the urge to cry. When would it end?

"I involved myself in this mess; I will talk my way out of it," she concluded.

"But charge you as an adult? How could they do that?" Victor thought aloud.

"The family vault," Astoria and Alastair simultaneously realized, groaning.

"The entire family fortune transferred into my name after my parents passed. Everything is mine; they bypassed all laws regarding inheritance laws for minors," Astoria explained. "So all the times the Carrows made me perform the Cruciatus counted against me. And even before that they had a Tag on me, so they could keep track of all underage magic…"

"But how could they know you performed the Cruciatus after you supposedly became 'of age'?" Alastair asked.

"Everyone knew what I did, even from the other Houses."

"Damn it, Astoria, you erased the detention records! They could say you were covering your tracks, tampering with criminal evidence!" Alastair recommenced his pacing.

"Uncle, please stop shouting," Daphne whimpered.

"Go take a moment," Victor said to Alastair. The two silently argued with glares. In the end, Victor won and Alastair turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. "I can honestly say I have never seen him more upset than now. But he will calm down. He always does."

"But what about the Hogwarts Pardon?" Daphne blurt out. "You fought on Potter's side!"

"Theo was of age too. Do you think he got summoned?" asked Astoria.

"Write him," Daphne quickly Summoned parchment and a quill. Astoria jotted down a single sentence—Have the Wizengamot charged you with any crimes?—and went to fetch the owl.

"We don't have time for that!" exclaimed Daphne. "Send the letter through the Floo." Astoria put the letter in the hearth, shouted "The Nott Heights!" and tossed the powder so it exploded into green flames, sending the letter off.

"But what if he has not?"

"Your uncle may have a point; this sounds like revenge," Victor mused.

"When will this end? Why can't they just leave us alone?" Daphne began to cry, echoing the question that her sister had mentally asked minutes ago. Astoria still had not felt anything. Not anger, not worry, not fear. Nothing. All she wanted to do was lay down and sleep.

"But what makes me different from Theo?" Astoria asked.

"He was of age the entire year."

"His father was a Death Eater. Our parents were not."

"But he carried no Mark."

"He did not inherit until after the Battle."

"He killed." There was a heavy silence.

"But you fought, Astoria. That has to count for something."

"I volunteered," it dawned on Astoria.

"Of course you fought on your own will; that cannot be questioned…" Victor said.

"Oh no," Daphne said, suddenly realizing what Astoria meant.

"What?" Victor asked, looking between the sisters. Astoria couldn't speak.

"Astoria volunteered to perform the Cruciatus in my place. She said, 'I will take my sister's place. I will learn her lesson.'"

"How could anyone have known that?" Victor asked.

"Vincent was there."

"Crabbe? But he's dead."

"He must have told Goyle at some point," Astoria sighed.

"But how else?" Victor pressed.

"When I got back to the Common Room, Blaise, Draco, and Theo were all there," Daphne realized.

"You think it could have been Malfoy, Zabini, or Goyle?"

"There is a possibility something slipped during a deposition," Victor reasoned. "But who was the person in detention that you performed the spell on? They must have seen what passed." Astoria paled.

"They did."

"Well, who was it?"

"It was Lavender Brown," Daphne replied.

"Do you think she told?"

"She is also dead," Astoria said, her head beginning to spin.

"But she must have told someone beforehand, Tori. That was in October, I think…"

"She could not have," Astoria began to tremble.

"But how?"

"Because she does not remember."

There was silence. Astoria felt her body lurch, but she held back the bile rising to her throat.

"It was you," Daphne breathed.

"What?" Victor asked, confused.

"You were the Master of Memory."

"What?"

"There was someone going around making students forget about their detentions with the Carrows—that way they would not have to live with the memory of the pain and humiliation… it was you, wasn't it, Tori?"

Astoria slowly nodded.

"Merlin."

"Astoria, what have you done?"

Astoria shook her head, feeling tears begin to gather in her eyes and her stomach rolled in waves. Just then, Alastair entered the room.

"I apologize for yelling," he said to Daphne stiffly. "I am sorry for my anger. It was not helpful." Then, he noticed the dejected postures of everyone else in the room. "What happened?"

"There is a real case against Astoria. Connections, witnesses, everything," Victor murmured.

They heard the roar of the Floo and she could hear Theo bellow, "Astoria!"

"Did the Wizengamot charge you with any crime?" Daphne asked.

"No," Theo shook his head. "What happened?"

"Someone has a case against her. And it is going to stick," Victor said. It was silent in the room. "Give us strength, reserve control. Give us heart, and give us soul."

That was the last Astoria heard before she slipped out of the chair and into darkness.

---

(Clocks)

The confusion never stopped in the Malfoy Manor. Every day it felt like the walls closed in a centimeter more and the tick of the grandfather clock grew louder and louder, a reminder of his solitude, imprisonment, and regret. The days seemed to drag on, as there was little to do. Cleaning the house had become a monotony. It was an endless parade of humility, of mindless tasks, and worse of all, silence. His mother had taken to putting vinyl disks on the phonograph, just to fill the emptiness. After two weeks, the music became background noise, disappearing and molding in with the silence.

He read and reread The Great Gatsby. He had read Fight Club and Catcher in the Rye, but there were too many Muggle references to understand. He knew they were Muggle books. They had to be. He felt weird reading them at first, but really, they weren't that different. Same worries, same feelings, same problems. Different popular culture. He wanted to hate them, but he couldn't. He wanted to be disgusted by them, but he didn't. That made him hate himself for awhile. It seemed like he hated everything recently.

He hated his father for being constantly absent, for wallowing in his misery. Couldn't he see that the entire family was miserable? If he brought them into this whole mess, why was he so incapable to bringing them out? How could he just drink it all away? For years, Draco had admired his father so much; he wanted to be just like him. And now, Draco wanted to be anyone but his father. Yet, he did not know what that meant exactly. He could not be someone simply by antithesis.

Just a little part of him hated his mother. She was so utterly powerful. People listened to her, and out of respect, not fear. Why hadn't she done something before they were already in deep shit? Why had she not talked her husband out of his mistakes? Why had she even stayed with him as he brought the entire family down? She could have left at any time. Maybe she should have left. Certainly she would have been better off, Draco thought miserably. His mother had given up her freedom, and for what? To be once again imprisoned in her house with a pathetic husband and a coward for a son?

He hated how Auror Elaine Kendrick tried to brighten up the Manor with her smiles and bubbly attitude. It made the darkness in the Manor all the more prevalent after her shift was over. He hated how Auror Smith never batted an eye about anything when he probably knew that the family was the most fucked up thing he had ever seen. He hated how Auror Killian McMorrow tried to talk to him and made him crave cigarettes and then at midnight left to go home to his wife and his little girl. He even hated the early morning Auror, whose name he did not even know, who watched him with narrowed eyes as he got up for a glass of water and told him in her smoky voice to go back to sleep. He hated them all for getting to leave—not even for leaving, but having the privilege to do so. What worried Draco more was that it has only been a month. Eleven more remained, and if he was already going out of his fucking mind, how would he survive?

There were tides that he tried to swim against and troubles that he couldn't name. He had a feeling that maybe one of the answers to his troubles was in The Great Gatsby, but he hoped it wasn't. After all, one of the main characters spent the entire book trying to get the girl of his dreams and in the end, he didn't get the girl and he died—spent an entire lifetime going after her, only to have to slip through his fingers in the end. The book made Little Greengrass's voice echo through his head:

"You are never going to find him. He will always slip right through your fingers, just like forgiveness and redemption and all those things you want but will never, ever have."

The entire world as he knew it seemed to be changing, but he only got to read about it in the newspaper. He read about long-open cases of murder at last being closed. He read of reappearances, those lost finally being found. He read of justice served, criminals caught, and wounds slowly healing. So, was he a part of the cure or was he a part of the disease? Most days he didn't know. But most nights, he liked to pretend that one day he would be able to reach out across that dock and snatch the green light of forgiveness and redemption. Mostly, he just hoped Little Greengrass was wrong about him. Then again, she had gotten more things right than he did.

That was what he thought, at least, until Auror Kendrick said that the paperwork didn't go through for the Greengrass girls to visit them.

"And why not?" Narcissa asked indignantly.

"The youngest is to go on trial," the Auror said carefully. "She is charged with use of the Cruciatus Curse and excessive use of magical force."

"What of the Hogwarts Pardon?" asked Narcissa.

"They must have found something."

"That is ridiculous, she is a child, a good two years younger than Draco," scoffed Lucius.

"Well, they are trying her as an adult."

That afternoon, Draco had a good, long run around the perimeter of the property just trying to get his mind around it. His legs tired long before he figured out much of anything.

---

(Swallowed in the Sea)

The long grasses of the moors whistled as Astoria hugged her cloak closer to her. She and Theo had taken a long walk that afternoon, trudging up hills and reaching out to hoist the other up a rock. Most of the time, they did not talk. Astoria was slowly building up her trust for him, accepting the things he had done to her and for her. She had cut him down to size, but he had opened up her eyes. They were tied together, but not in the way she and Malfoy were. That was what she told herself, anyway.

"What are you going to do about the trial?"

"I do not know, Theo. I suppose I will just have to wait and see."

"Well, are you allowed to call forward witnesses?"

"And who would I call forward who saw my good deeds? You?" she scoffed.

"You have a point," he said glumly. His surname tended to leave a bad taste in most wizards' mouths. Trying to make a joke, "What about that Summerby bloke?"

"That is not even funny, Theo," Astoria shoved him.

"But more seriously, Astoria. What about… what about Fiona?"

"Fiona Davis?" Astoria had forgotten about her since her older sister's funeral. "I believe she would come if I wrote to her."

"Who else?"

"I do not know, Theo."

"There has to be someone else, Astoria. Merlin knows you will need it…"

"Thanks for the reassurance," Astoria muttered grimly. Theo simply looked at her. "You still need a haircut."

"Have you been eating?" Astoria did not reply. "You need to eat if we are going to spend all afternoon walking. Come on, back to the house."

"But it is so lovely out here," Astoria murmured morosely. A breeze whipped over the moor, tangling itself in her hair. Astoria understood why Theo stayed out there—just for a moment, all of her pain and fear would be swallowed up in the sea of grasses that waved in the wind. Just for a moment, she was fine.

"I know, but you need to take care of yourself better."

"A bit hypocritical, don't you think?" Astoria raised an eyebrow.

"Astoria, please don't start now."

"When would you like me to?"

"Preferably never. Come on, don't be so snarky." Astoria bristled. "Fine, no comments. I… I just do not want this to swallow you up. It's no good to live with nothing else to…"

"You have plenty to give, Theo, don't be so morbid." He smiled at her in the way a brother does to applaud a sibling's good deed.

"Come on, don't doddle," he held out a hand to help her down from the rock she stood on.

---

(Viva la Vida)

Eighteen years only and only the scars of an older man to prove it.

Draco woke up on the morning of June 5 with this glum realization. He rolled over and situated himself upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and pulled himself up, the joints in his feet, knees, and ankles giving satisfying pops and cracks as he rose. He pulled back the curtain and shoved open the window to his room. The light and gentle summer breeze poured into the room. Draco closed his eyes for a moment, letting the morning sun warm his face. It was an exceptionally nice day.

He stripped and stepped into the shower, keeping the water cool to not disturb the slowly healing skin on his left forearm. The shower was a good place to mull over questions of life, death, and philosophy, but his mother had mentioned that they needed to more resourceful. In other words, the shower was not a place for hour-long ruminations. He quickly soaped up, rinsed, and dried himself. After slowly unwrapping the bandage on his arm, Draco dabbed the prescribed lotions to the charred, silver, and pink skin before carefully wrapping the bandage again.

He pulled clothes from his armoire: underwear, an undershirt, a white linen shirt, and grey trousers. As he dressed, he thought: what to do today? How to celebrate?

Was there anything to celebrate? Eighteen years and only the scars…

There was a knock at his door.

"Enter," Draco spoke, finishing buttoning his shirt.

"Good morning!" the ever chipper Auror Kendrick sung. "Your mum is busy downstairs, but she wanted to know if you were up and if you are up, to come downstairs. So, hop to it! And your collar is flipped," she gestured to the back of his neck before exiting the room. Draco sighed and craned his head to fix it before giving up and walking down the stairs.

His mother was beaming. His father looked vaguely sober. And there was a heaping bowl of ice cream on the dining room table.

"Happy birthday, Draco," said his mother.

"Happy birthday, son," his father said as he placed a hand on his mother's shoulder. Draco hardly knew what to do. Since he was eleven, he always had his birthday at school, but before he went to Hogwarts, he always got ice cream for breakfast on his birthday. It was a tradition of sorts, and Draco had forgotten about it. It had been such a long time. He hugged his parents, whispering a thank you. His mother, while embracing him, fixed his collar.

"Eighteen years," she whispered. Then more loudly, "Well, eat your ice cream before it melts."

"Presents," Lucius Malfoy gestured to the end of the table, where three impeccably wrapped boxes and one envelope rested. "But yes, ice cream first."

And Draco had his ice cream, vanilla with fudge sauce, caramel, banana, and a dollop of whipped cream. The first present was from his mother, a handsome set of silver cuff links. The second was from his father, a new pocket watch, as the watch that was given to him on his 17th birthday was lost in the commotion of the Battle. How the man had known, Draco wasn't sure as he did not have the heart to tell his father that Abraxas Malfoy's pocket watch was in all likelihood melted into oblivion by the Fiendfyre. Draco greatly preferred this watch, however. It was platinum, with his first name in simple lettering engraved on the back, and a clean, minimalist face—really, a handsome, modern watch with a set of elegant chains so he could wear it in various ways. Draco appreciated both gifts immensely, realizing for the first time in his life that they were probably extravagant considering the current family finances. The third gift, the last of the neatly wrapped ones, turned out to be from the Greengrass girls. Narcissa Malfoy looked pleased. Daphne had given him a soft grey scarf with his initials discreetly embroidered in silver thread on one of the corners. His mother thought it was "thoughtful" and "most kindly personalized." However, most of the weight from the box came from the large tome Little Greengrass had bequeathed him. Paradise Lost was the title; John Milton was the author. Inside, she inscribed: A book in which the Devil is the protagonist. Then, as a second thought at the bottom of the page: Happy birthday.

"She has eccentric tastes, does she not?" Narcissa drawled. His father inspected the book and merely smirked.

"She takes after Theodore Nott in that way," Draco explained, which seemed to assuage his mother. He picked up the envelope and peeled off the wax seal. The piece of paper inside revealed that Draco was to receive a year's subscription of Seeker Weekly, courtesy of the four Aurors that patrolled the interior of the Malfoy Manor. (The fourth Auror—the night Auror—had signed her name "Eve.") Draco found the gesture entirely surprising and nearly forgot his manners. He thanked Auror Elaine Kendrick for her generosity.

"We heard someone liked Quidditch," she shrugged humbly, but she wore a proud smile on her face.

Draco was excused from housework and went to put away his gifts. He missed the weight of a watch on his person and attached the pocket watch chain to his belt loop and slipped it into his pants pocket. The cuff links were stored in a drawer, to wait until a special occasion arrived. The letter was placed on his desk and he draped the scarf on the back of his desk chair to remind him to write a proper thank-you note. Little Greengrass's obnoxiously big tome made him a little curious and he opened the book to a random page to find a column of verse accompanied by footnotes. His eyes skimmed the page:

The first sort by their own suggestions fell, / Self-tempted, self-depraved: man falls deceived / By the other first: man therefore shall find grace, / The other none

This angered him for some reason and he shoved the book in the back of his sock drawer.

But his parents were in lively moods and the grand piano, which had not been touched for years, was opened. On one sentimental day when Draco was a boy, Lucius Malfoy explained to his son that the first time he laid eyes on his wife was when she was perched on a piano bench, attempting a duet with her sister.

"Auntie Bellatrix?" Draco asked. That pretty much killed his father's bout of sentimentality. It was one of his first clues to the elusive mystery that was Andromeda Black. From the pictures of her in the paper, Draco thought she must have been exquisitely beautiful in her youth, with all the catlike grace that his mother and his dear Auntie Bellatrix had possessed, all tall and willowy with pointed chins and high cheekbones, but a certain softness in her wide eyes.

Either way, the piano was reserved only for cheery or sentimental days. The piano was a private affair and Draco had not heard its tinkling in years. Narcissa Malfoy always insisted she was hardly accomplished in the piano, but her husband had gifted to her the instrument to demonstrate his wealth and fine memory. It was one of the few tangible examples of Lucius Malfoy's more sentimental side.

That afternoon, the family had a lunch in one of the corner sitting rooms of the house that had better lighting than most of the manor; the windows were even momentarily tossed open. After, Draco was left to his own devices and he decided to wander through the grounds. Really something would have to be done about the gardens; they were greatly neglected and at the very least needed to be cleared. The dead roses looked far too pathetic. Nonetheless, it was a beautiful summer day and the family had a sumptuous dinner that Draco and his father made a point to praise because Narcissa had spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen to prepare the meal. She had greatly improved in her cooking, although Draco suspected that Auror Kendrick had helped her prepare a few things in the morning. Draco was sure to thank Auror Smith for the magazine subscription; he mumbled a thank you. Auror McMorrow clapped him on the back and said that a lad only turns eighteen once. Draco did not feel the need for a cigarette that night and sat with the Irishman on the front steps of the house in silence, listening to the loud chirping of the grasshoppers.

Draco was about to slip into bed when he saw the light on in his father's study. He was worried that Lucius Malfoy had fallen asleep in there again with a glass of brandy precariously gripped in his hand, so he gently knocked on the door, to be surprised when he heard his father beckon him inside.

"Draco, I thought you would still be up. You have become quite the night owl in your old age," his father lounged aristocratically in an ornate chair. "I believe you are old enough to have a drink with your father." Draco figured that his father was already probably a drink or two ahead of him, but consented nonetheless. His father's brandy collection had intrigued him ever since he was a little boy. He thanked his father and the two sat facing each other. "Did you have a pleasant day?"

"Yes, it was quite nice. The pocket watch truly is very striking—I like it very much. Thank you," Draco felt silly saying the words because he could not quite express how much he liked the gift. Both men seemed rather embarrassed for a moment.

"Yes, well, I thought that you are your own man and deserve your own watch."

"Father, grandfather's watch…"

"I had suspected as much, Draco," Lucius Malfoy gently interrupted him to spare the uncomfortable explanation. They were silent for a moment. "I shall attempt to be frank," he said suddenly and Draco felt like he was in for a speech.

"It is an odd thing to discover that my castles stood upon pillars of sand," he mused. "I never once thought that the principles of old would fail us. And in this changing world, I never knew just how precarious they would be. One minute I held the key—I was one of the most powerful men in the Ministry, with all the power and influence I could ever desire. I felt the fear in my enemy's eyes; my word held weight," he explained with a flourish of his graceful hands.

Draco dared not interrupt. His father had a tongue of silver and even though Draco knew that he would be told things that he maybe didn't want to know, he couldn't stop listening.

"And suddenly, the walls were closed on me," dejection entered Lucius Malfoy's voice. "In my dreams, I sweep the streets I used to own. And you—I think of you. Just a puppet on a lonely string. For some reason I can't explain, Draco, but once you went—once you went down the path I had foolishly led you to—there was never an honest word. Never an honest word in this house. And it makes me wonder if all along, our castle ever stood upon pillars of sand or mountains of lies. And now I fear I will never know, that I'm too old a man for this generation. I wanted to be a man you would look up to; I know you do not any longer," he said, downing the last of his brandy. Draco's hand merely warmed his glass. "Happy birthday, son. May your next eighteen years be better than your first."

With anger and bitterness burning in his stomach and an exhaustion that made it impossible to explode, Draco merely spat his gratitude for his father's frankness and left the study.

A wicked and wild wind came into the valley that evening. Draco sat in the ledge of his window with his glass of brandy. He nearly fell out when the door suddenly swung open.

"What are you doing." It was the night Auror, the one with a voice like smoke. And it was a statement, not quite a question. She moved into the room, glaring up at him as she silkily sidestepped.

"Drinking."

"In the window."

"Yes."

"Contemplating suicide?"

"No."

"Good. Too much paperwork." Then, "I'm not paid to like you. Just to protect you." It was the most Draco had ever heard her speak and in the dark shadows of the night, he could barely make an outline of her. She was just a disembodied glare.

"Well, thank you for the birthday present," Draco said evenly. After all, her name was on the card and he hardly expected anyone to like him these days. How different this situation would have been two years ago…

"Can you get out of the window?" she asked, growing impatient.

"Eve. Is that your real name?" he asked, feeling the loosening effects of the brandy.

"Wouldn't you like to know. Get out of the window before I remove you from there." Her fingers danced on her wand at her side. Draco swung his feet back into the room and pushed the window shut, forcing it against the brisk wind.

"'Please' would be most kind."

"I'm not paid to be kind either. And this, coming from a spoiled prince who probably never deigned to say please. Happy birthday, Draco Malfoy. Don't fuck up the next eighteen years."

And with that, she shut the door to his room, leaving Draco with an empty glass of brandy, eighteen years, and only the scars of an older man to prove it.

---

(Us Against the World)

"Jesus, Astoria, you look like shit."

"Hell, we all do," felt appropriate to say when she arrived at Fiona Davis's house.

It all happened rather quickly. One day she wrote Fiona a careful letter explaining the circumstances of her trial and an inquiry if she would be able to go to the Ministry that day to testify on her behalf. Fiona responded an affirmative and inquired how her summer was going, to which Astoria gave a surprisingly honest and direct account, plainly describing her uncomfortable return to the Greengrass Estate, the nightmares that she had, her grandfather's journals that she hardly had the heart to read, Malfoy's trial, her stubborn grudge against him in contrast to Daphne's general benevolence, reviewing the family finances with Daphne, the discovery of their Greek island, Blaise's trial, Daphne's inexplicable sorrow, Theo's books and the confession that followed, her return to Hogwarts, long talk with her uncle, and forgiving Theo. Fiona responded with an equally long letter, filled with quiet remarks of the emptiness in her house, the confusion and sorrow of her parents and the rift that had formed between her Wizard father and Muggle mother. She talked about Tracey's locked bedroom door, her second-thoughts about returning to Hogwarts, and how none of her school friends seemed to really understand how she felt. But Astoria did. And her parents wanted to meet her. They apparently also wanted to meet Theo, Fiona mentioned, but even she knew that it would never happen, that Theo would never be able to handle that encounter. It ended with an invitation to their house in suburbs of Manchester. Astoria accepted.

And it was true, that they both looked like shit. Both girls showed signs that sleep had continually eluded them. They looked older, but probably a little less wiser and a little more shattered. Astoria stepped out of the fireplace and into their little sitting room. It appeared to be a small, but cozy house. Fiona suddenly became self-conscious.

"It's probably not the grandeur that you are used to," she smirked. "I have heard of the kind of houses you are used to visiting."

"The Greengrasses tend to value landscape over mansions," Astoria dismissed her friend's concern. The two stood in front of each other awkwardly until Fiona broke the silence with a whisper. She stepped forward to confide in Astoria.

"It's bloody awful here."

"I understand," Astoria whispered back, remembering her mother's perfume in the house and the empty master bedroom in her house.

"Does it get better?"

"Eventually," Astoria nodded and this seemed to relieve Fiona a bit.

"Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for having me."

"Fiona, is your friend here?" a man's voice called from another room.

"Yeah, she is," Fiona called back. "My father."

A man came into the room. He had graying brown-blonde hair, glasses, and Tracey's face. Or, rather, Tracey had his face. Astoria suddenly felt distinctly guilty.

"Astoria, it is a pleasure to meet you," he offered his hand. Astoria warily took it.

"A pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Davis," her classes of etiquette told her to respond.

"Edwin," he corrected her politely. Then, he seemed to falter for a moment. "Could I… may I get you something to eat or drink perhaps?"

"No thank you, sir, but thank you for the kind offer."

"Well, yes, do not hesitate to ask if you need anything. We… thank you for everything."

"I…" Astoria did not even know what to say. She had not even done enough. Tracey was still dead.

"Fiona told us how you helped… them," he avoided his oldest daughter's name. "I understand that it was a difficult situation for you," he said very carefully. Astoria gulped, trying to loosen the tight muscles in her throat. She nodded in reply. "My wife, unfortunately, cannot meet you today. She is a little… sometimes she does not understand this world… you understand?" Astoria didn't because she had known no other world, but she tried to picture the opposite situation—of her trying to understand the Muggle world—and nodded anyway. "Are you sure there is nothing I can get you? Anything at all I can do? We cannot thank you—"

"No," Astoria interrupted. "No thank you, please. I…" She wanted to explain that she hadn't done enough, that if she had done more, that Tracey would be alive, if Theo's mother was not a long removed Greengrass, that she would have never even been involved in the entire ordeal, that Theo would not have hesitated to leave Astoria's side and would have saved Tracey Davis. Really, one or the other had to die and Tracey was a truly remarkable young woman and people would never, ever forget her. Tracey Davis was the Cedric Diggory of the Slytherins.

"I suppose, then, I will let you two be. It is a true pleasure to meet you, Astoria. Thank you for coming to our house," he took her hand again before leaving the room. He looked lost in his own house, and Astoria knew the feeling. Fiona heaved a sigh behind her.

"He's been like that for a month. And mum, angry and confused. Do you ever feel like it's us against the world in all this swirling chaos? It's completely maddening," she shook her head. Astoria took it as a rhetorical question. "Want to go up to my room?"

"If you want," Astoria shrugged. She hadn't really been to a friend's room before. Not a friend that she had chosen, anyway. Her mother had occasionally forced her to socials when she was younger and at some point all the girls would escape to a bedroom to gossip.

Fiona's room was very clean and a little barren, with the exception of a long shelf filled with books that wrapped around the perimeter of her room. It was set up in a very Muggle fashion, with a few still photographs of her family. Her trunk and cauldron were hidden away, nothing magical in sight. Fiona caught Astoria's gaze.

"Mum doesn't like magical things now. It makes her a little nervous. Besides, a lot of the neighbors have been stopping by, so we keep the house fairly Muggle. We've been telling everyone that Tracey died in a car accident. Less questions that way, but it feels wrong. She was murdered. That's… completely different."

"You need to come back to Hogwarts," Astoria said suddenly because it felt like the right thing to say.

"I know, but the things that happened there… I don't think I can just erase it all."

"I thought so too, and that is why I went back to help rebuild it. Fixing the school did not make me forget what happened, but seeing it before classes start was a helpful transition. And the worse is fixed. All the blood is gone." Fiona shuddered. "That was probably an insensitive detail," Astoria shrunk.

"I appreciate your honesty," Fiona said with a small smile. Astoria herself was a little surprised of her own honesty, but it felt natural to talk so with a friend. "I know it all has to begin again, but I don't know if I'll be able to let it go."

"You will not for awhile. And you should not. Do not let go. I am starting to realize that our generation is going to have to remember as if it were our duty. It is going to define us. And some day it will make more sense. Right now, though…"

"Nothing really makes sense."

Astoria nodded.

"When do you think you'll be going to Hogwarts again?"

"I suppose that depends how the trial goes."

"I really can't believe that they found a loophole."

"My uncle thinks it is some elaborate act of revenge."

"It's bloody ridiculous, that's what it is," Fiona growled. "I mean, what are you going to do?"

"I cannot simply lie. I did everything they accused me of. It will come down to the Wizengamot deciding whether or not my 'excuses' are adequate."

"Well, Malfoy did a lot worse than you and he's just on house arrest for a year."

"No wand for two years," Astoria added.

"Still."

"But Zabini is in Azkaban, Fiona. They made an example out of him, and I am sure they will not be afraid to do the same to me."

"You really think so?"

"I do not even know what to believe anymore. I have no idea what they have on me, what they do or do not know. And I feel like the Wizengamot judges are not going to be inclined to like me. At least one of them is out for revenge."

"You saved Tracey and me," Fiona said firmly. "You were the Master of Memory. It has to count for something."

"It ought to." They were silent for a few moments, each one thinking of their final days at Hogwarts.

"It's been a month since that night."

"I remember the end more clearly than anything else. I remember the cheers and I thought that it was finally over. But the aftermath has been just as messy. The hits keep coming, and I just want to slow it down."

"If we could float away, fly up to the surface and just start again, and lift up before the trouble—"

"That would never happen. And how much would it change?"

"I know. It feels silly to say. I mean, I'm a Ravenclaw, and we don't really have these fanciful hopes, you know."

"But hope is not a bad thing," Astoria suggested.

"I suppose."

"It is a pretty thought, floating away. Don't feel silly. Not around me. How many people in our year really understand it anyway?"

"Misery loves company," Fiona leaned against Astoria's arm. "But I am beginning to think that we are actually quite alike." The girls bowed their heads toward each other, acknowledging their strange tie. Astoria had not felt friendship like this before. Her friendship with Theo was partly out of debt and cemented by forgiveness. This friendship with Fiona was founded in circumstance, but Astoria imagined that they could have been friends years before if Astoria hadn't been so shy and reserved.

"Well, you could always live in the Slytherin common room. I have no idea if any of the other girls will be coming back."

"Who?"

"Mel Avery, Annie Yaxley."

"Names like that…"

"Exactly. Lindsay may come back. She is a Selwyn, but distantly. I do not think her family was involved."

"It'll be an interesting year."

"If I have to hear one more speech about House unity—"

"It is a load of bollocks and everyone knows it. Everyone is going to hate the Slytherins."

"Thrilling."

"Well, I guess it'll be us against the world," Fiona nudged Astoria.

"It sounds dramatic."

"Enticing."

"Dynamic."

"Historic."

"You will come on Wednesday?"

"The tenth? Of course, Astoria. Someone has to make sure to you don't go to Azkaban," Fiona grinned and nudged her. The girls paused for a moment and then simultaneously frowned. "That was supposed to be a joke, but that was terrible."

"I know," Astoria wrinkled her nose. Then, they inexplicably started laughing. They laughed, clutching their sides and gasping for breath. When they managed to compose themselves, Astoria said that she needed to return home. The girls awkwardly hugged each other, Fiona whispering a thank-you for coming. They walked out of the bedroom and passed a shut door.

"That's Tracey's room," Fiona said so softly Astoria nearly missed the comment. Astoria considered her words for a moment.

"Daphne and I did not go through our parents things until this summer. But Daphne sometimes wears our mother's jewelry. And I have a jumper of my father's. The right time will come."

Just then, a door further down the hall cracked open. She had Tracey's mouth, or Tracey had her mother's mouth. It must have been her mother because she looked at Astoria for a few seconds that crept along. Then, she gave a nearly imperceptible nod and shut the door again. Astoria and Fiona did not comment on it and Astoria Flooed back to the Greengrass Estate.

Only three days remained before the trial and it was bound to be a long three days.

---

(In My Place)

Draco's runs grew longer as his legs grew stronger and his mind became more tired of itself. Some nights when it was warm he would sit in his open window, just to annoy Eve—or whatever her name was. After two nights she seemed to get that it was a childish ploy to bait her and stopped coming. She was always just a smoky voice and a dark glare in the shadows of his bedroom, nothing more. Her odd hatred for him was magnetic.

During the days, he re-read all of his school books, starting from first year. He smiled at the little notes he wrote in the margins and Blaise's drawings of penises, not quite subtly disguised as a broomstick and quaffles. Ah, they were so mature during fifth year. Bored with the cogs in his own mind, he wrapped himself around spells and potions, memorizing incantations and the gentle flicks of his wrist to cast the spells. No wand, but he could still teach himself. Maybe once he got his wand back, he could re-take his N.E.W.T.s.

Out of desperation, he thought of reading the book that Little Greengrass gave him just because it was massive. Then he remembered that Little Greengrass was a snotty brat and the book was just a slap in the face. She must have missed her etiquette lesson on how to give proper gifts. The bint.

In his place, he was rather stuck in too many ways. Stuck in his house, stuck in his mind—these were lines and borders that he couldn't change and within the confines of these lines, he still felt lost. Still, he was stupidly searching for forgiveness and redemption, the things that Little Greengrass said he would never find. But honestly, what else was he supposed to do? How long must he wait for it? How long must he pay for it? Apparently a year, if one looked at his house arrest. Or two years for the wand. Or five years for the Ministry to stop breathing down his neck. Yet, he had the inkling that five years would just be the beginning of it. Five years time would put him at 23 years old. He already felt way too old, even though in the days following his birthday he hid from his father like a little boy. He tried to let go of his anger from his father's words by telling himself that his father was drunk and that the words were not to be valued, but another part of his brain told him that drunk people were usually too honest.

Nights were long. Half of him clung to the windowsill on warm nights to provoke Eve, but the other half of him was scared of the images that came when he closed his eyes. Crabbe burning. Blaise rotting in some cell. Pansy, just her feet dangling in the air. Goyle in St. Mungo's with wide, dead eyes. Little Greengrass with her bloodied back to him, scarlet paint splattered on alabaster skin with lime green eyes thrown over her shoulder. He spent such a long time being scared, tired, and underprepared, and even though the war was over, his terror continued long into the night when he was supposed to be resting. He couldn't rest when he dreamed his friends' deaths and demises over and over again.

In his place, he grew tired of everything. Tired of his boredom, tired of his mind, tired of being tired. Only eleven more months on this side of hell. Brilliant.

---

(Paradise)

"Did you sleep at all?" Daphne asked Astoria on the morning of June 10th. The brunette was clutching a glass of breakfast tea. A nearby saucer held four used tea bags.

"I do not think so," Astoria shook her head. "Did you sleep?"

"I do not think anyone did in this house," Victor muttered, entering the kitchen with Alastair behind him. All were still in their pajamas.

"Might as well put some more tea on," Victor quietly suggested. Dop swooped in to take the kettle, holding back his normal quiet chatter because he realized that his family was particularly quiet and tense. He tried to compensate by making a full English breakfast with toast, bacon, eggs, sausage, mushrooms, and tomatoes with a bottomless kettle of tea, but they still seemed gloomy. They had not even put on their day clothes and it was a Wednesday; they only stayed in their pajamas through breakfast during weekends. But they had all said that they had not slept well, so the best Dop figured he could do was make the tea a little stronger than normal.

At last, his family thanked him for the fine breakfast and went upstairs to change as Dop cleared the table. Miss Astoria Greengrass was behaving most unusual and even gave him a pat on the head. She seemed rather sad, and Dop said that he would prepare a pot pie for dinner, as that was her favorite. For some reason this seemed to make her even sadder but then she said that pot pie would be lovely. Dop was then even more confused, but at a loss to how to cheer her up. Perhaps dessert would do the trick.

Upstairs, Astoria had put on a simple, black dress and a semi-formal set of robes and had sat herself in front of her vanity with little idea of what to do next. Daphne lingered at the doorframe, then slid inside to help her sister. She picked up a green ribbon and tied it in a bow around her head. Both looked at the girl in the mirror: limp brown hair, tired and old eyes, and a figure that suggested that a constant knot in her stomach had kept her from eating. With the ribbon in her hair, she looked young, but her eyes that had witness countless war crimes suggested otherwise.

"What if…?" Daphne began and Astoria shook her head. She could not consider what would happen if she was sent to Azkaban. She could not think that this could be her last day at the Greengrass Estate, that they could actually convict her.

"Don't… please don't, Daph." The blonde's eyes welled up in tears before she swallowed and heaved a deep sigh. "I'll meet you downstairs."

Daphne went to her room but left Astoria's door open, allowing a quiet conversation float up to the second floor.

"I wish you could have seen her when she was just a girl. She was a funny little thing, always demanding puzzles and riddles. Astoria was uncannily smart from the very beginning; not the prize daughter her mother knew how to fully appreciate, but absolutely adored by so many others. What was most funny is that she knew she was smart; she was so aware of her circumstances and own intelligence that she expected the world. How quickly it has flown away from her reach. If I had come back just two years ago, I would have found a very different girl than the one I met at Christmas."

"Alastair, you couldn't have known."

"But I did know. I knew the stakes and the sides. I knew that something had to give. I just did not know that it would be her childhood, her innocence."

"Well, the sun must set to rise. It was her dark hour that brought you back into her life. You are here for her now. Life goes on, even if it's a little heavier than we could have ever imagined."

"It is not the life she expected, though. And certainly it is not the life she deserves," Alastair clenched his fists and Astoria chose that moment to make it known that she was at the top of the staircase. Both men quickly hushed and looked away abruptly. Astoria pretended she hadn't heard a thing.

"Daphne will be down in just a moment," she explained. They stood in silence, each quite intent on studying the polish on their shoes until Daphne trotted down, eyes slightly red but otherwise flawless.

Their arrival to the Wizengamot court was a blur. Daphne clutched Astoria's hand so all she had to do was follow. She did not even realize she was at the court until a question was repeated to her.

"May you please surrender your wand for the duration of the trial?"

Astoria was quite inclined to say no—after all, she had taken to sleeping with it clutched in her hand—but recognized the necessity of the situation. She thought about it, gave a glare, and then very warily handed it over. The courtroom was fairly empty, with only a few court reporters, a writer and a photographer from The Daily Prophet, Professor Slughorn, and Fiona Davis and her father in attendance. Fiona waved hello and Astoria nodded back. Her uncle Alastair kept an arm wrapped protectively around her shoulder, his hawk eyes scanning the room for someone to lash out at. Victor fiddled with his coat and Daphne refused to let go of Astoria's hand until a court reporter summoned her to a chair in the middle of the courtroom. She felt like she was going to throw up. Astoria twisted her small Greengrass ring on her finger, watching as the Wizengamot judges entered the seating above. Augusta Longbottom loomed above and when she sat, everyone else followed suit.

"Astoria Leto Greengrass. Wand: cedar, 10 inches, dragon heartstring."

"Miss Astoria Greengrass, you have been accused of use of the Cruciatus Curse and excessive use of magical force as an adult," Augusta Longbottom began. She paused, looking up from her papers to squint at the girl. "Just how old are you?"

"Sixteen," she managed to squeak.

"Do you understand the circumstances that have enabled this court to try you as an adult?"

"I have my theories," she said slowly.

"Why don't you tell them to the court?" the woman coaxed. Astoria's eyes wandered to the rest of the judges who stared down at her, and she laced her hands together in her lap to keep them from shaking.

"When I first performed the Cruciatus Curse, I was fifteen and still had the Tag on me, so my spellwork could be tracked."

"So you do not deny it?" burst forth a voice from the judges. Astoria could not find the face up high in the crowd.

"I do not," she said, causing murmurs. "However, I was forced to perform the curse under great duress. Shall I continue with my theories or elaborate?" she directed the question to Augusta Longbottom.

"Please continue with your theories."

"Shortly before my sixteenth birthday, my parents… I inherited the entire family fortune, bypassing all laws requiring a guardian to manage the estate until I came of age. At that point, the Tag was taken off of me and from a financial, and therefore legal standpoint, I became a legal adult witch. However, there is the question of the Hogwarts Pardon, which—"

"—which would under most circumstances pardon you from your actions, as you fought in the Battle alongside members of Dumbledore's Army, despite not being of age to fight," the woman clipped right along.

"Correct," Astoria swallowed.

"You strike me as a very intelligent young witch, Miss Greengrass. So, do you know why you have been exempt from the Hogwarts Pardon?"

"I have only the slightest inkling," Astoria said carefully, not wanting to give away too much information. Augusta Longbottom paused, as if waiting for another response; then, seeing that she would get nothing, she continued.

"We have recovered memories from Mr. Gregory Goyle of when Vincent Crabbe, a fellow Slytherin student, told him that Amycus and Alecto Carrow had summoned your sister, Daphne Greengrass, to the dungeons to perform the Cruciatus Curse on a student. When she was unable to perform the curse, the Carrows summoned you to the dungeon, hoping to use you as leverage. When their methods failed to get the reaction they hoped, you volunteered to take her place. You volunteered willingly, with a sound mind. Is that not correct?"

The room was hushed so silent that the only noise was the scrawl of a quill across a page.

"That is correct, but that is also hearsay."

"Mr. Blaise Zabini, after much haggling, provided information that agrees with Mr. Goyle's memory. Because you volunteered to perform the curse and then destroyed the records that tie you to these detentions, this court has decided that your actions have been too suspicious to shove under a rug. Do you understand, Miss Greengrass?"

"I do."

"Do you think it fair?"

"No," Astoria spat. Then, she paused for a moment, reigning in her nerves. "No and yes, but mostly no."

"Explain."

"This court has yet to understand the great duress upon students whose family members were involved with Death Eaters or Death Eaters themselves. Mr. Potter gave a rather impassioned speech about untold stories from the other side and finding remorse in ourselves when hearing them, but I must confess I am not confident that this court has taken these words to heart. Others with intentions far worse than mine have been pardoned—"

"But you do confess to performing the Cruciatus Curse on students, mercilessly torturing them until they passed out, only to revive them again and repeat the ordeal until you could not revive them and then heartlessly depositing their unconscious form at the door of their House?" shouted a judge.

"Macmillan…" Astoria whispered and there was a long pause before Augusta Longbottom hastily called for a fifteen minute court recess. She was led out into a corridor and the judges filed passed her. These were the adults that would decide her fate, but Astoria always knew that adults made mistakes. She watched her uncle grab the arm of the judge who had shouted at her, hauling him around a corner. She followed.

"What is this? Some twisted act of revenge because she is her father's daughter and not her mother's?"

"This is hardly the time or place—"

"Because Daphne would never be condemned, because how could you condemn the image of your school love? But Astoria is the image of her father, my brother; she is his daughter, every bit as conniving and clever as he was. Thomas always took what he wanted—"

"You have no idea what you are talking about, Greengrass!"

"But I do, Macmillan, I do. So back down. Because you have already fought with the Greengrasses and the first time did not go so well. I can assure you—Astoria…"

She stood behind her uncle and Mr. Macmillan. All seemed to hold their breath.

"You look so much like him," the man whispered. "And he let her die…"

"My father did not let my mother die. They were murdered, the both of them," Astoria insisted. "And the time for punishing children for their parents' mistakes must stop. If that is not persuasion enough, perhaps you ought to ask your son who saved him when his leg was broken and a Death Eater had a wand pointed at his face."

"Ernie…?"

"Yes, that one." The man's eyes widened.

"But… but I can't stop it! It's already begun! They will try you as an adult."

"But I am sixteen."

"I know. I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do… It's all set in motion. Sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Mr. Alastair Greengrass, kindly release Judge Macmillan, as he will probably turn purple soon. Macmillan, my office, now," Augusta Longbottom barked before marching away.

"That bastard…" Alastair muttered under his breath.

"Macmillan set forth the trial and found the loopholes? Because of what I did to his son?"

"Among other reasons."

"For example?"

"These are complicated adult matters, Astoria."

"You told me that exact same thing when I was five. And these 'complicated adult matters' have become my problem, so I think I have the right to know," she bristled. Alastair paused, sighed, and began to speak:

"Macmillan was all set to graduate and marry your mother until Thomas one day looked up and saw what was in front of him right along. And your father, being the man that he is—was—decided that he would make Calliope his. He took his time, chatting up Calliope, befriending her until she broke up with Macmillan of her own will. Still then, Thomas continued to wait until she approached him to take her to Hosgmeade. He was as proud as a rooster while Macmillan seethed and always held a grudge against your father. And you know the rest of the story."

"After their date, he asked her if she enjoyed herself and she said yes. 'Good,' he said, 'because that will be your last first date if I have any say in the matter,'" Daphne came up to them from behind, finishing the story that her father used to tell them every April when the air on the grounds was particularly sweet and reminded him of how terribly in love he was with his wife.

"Do you think Longbottom will call off the trial?" Astoria dared herself to hope.

"It would make her look very bad when you have not denied the accusations. Macmillan probably is not fairing much better, though," Alastair said. "Would you not agree, Victor?"

"Pardon?" Victor broke away from his thoughts, gnawing on his fingernails. Alastair lowered his eyes at him.

"What is it now?"

"She needs sympathy."

"What?"

"You need sympathy, Astoria. You haven't even tried," Victor began. "They won't let this go now. Like Macmillan said, it's already begun. You aren't out of this yet and the only way out is if they know your story. So you have to tell them your story, Astoria. You have to tell them how it all happened. And why. And what you felt."

"What I felt?"

"Yes, what you felt. Because feelings are universal. That is how they will understand, Astoria."

"But I—"

"Astoria."

"He is right," Alastair sighed. They all stood quietly for a minute. Astoria tried to relinquish the terror that made her hands tremble.

"You can do it, Tori," Daphne gripped her sister's arm. "You are so smart that you can do anything. And you are going to do what you have to do because that's what we do to survive. And we aren't out of this yet." Astoria felt suddenly tired and defeated. All she wanted to do was sink into her bed and rest for a thousand years. She thought that she had stopped running after the battle, but she realized that she had kept running, trying to push everything behind her.

"Alright," Astoria quietly acquiesced and Daphne pulled her into a hug. Astoria let her head fall onto her sister's shoulder—this was how it was supposed to be. She was ready for it all to be over. She was ready to stop running from the memories that kept her from getting sleep at night. As Alastair said, life went on, even if it was a little heavier than she could have ever imagined. This could be her clean slate. All she had to do was convince the court that she was innocent in her guilt. Was that possible? To be innocent in guilt? Then again, if there was one thing she had learned in the past year, it was that nothing was black or white.

"Miss Greengrass, it's time," Augusta Longbottom said. Astoria gulped, her arms falling to her side as she parted from her sister. She nodded, straightened herself up, and then walked back into the courtroom. Longbottom called the court to order; the rest of the Wizengamot seemed confused about the break so soon into the trial, but Augusta continued the trial as if nothing was amiss.

"We have now established the premises upon which Miss Astoria Greengrass has been accused. Miss Greengrass, before we begin our line of questioning, would you like to make a remark in regard to your guilt or innocence?"

"As to the accusation of using the Cruciatus Curse, I am guilty," Astoria began, excruciatingly aware of the squeak of quills on parchment in the courtroom. "I used the curse to torture students, per the Carrows' coercion. I did so only out of fear for my life and the lives of my family. As to the accusation of excessive use of magical force, I do not believe I am guilty. I did not enjoy the acts of cruelty that I was forced to perform and often tried to subtly minimize the pain I caused them. I have asked Fiona Davis to supply evidence of this on my behalf."

"We will hear Miss Davis' testimony near the end of the trial. Is she your only witness?"

"Since family is not allowed to testify on my behalf… yes." Augusta Longbottom seemed to raise her eyebrows in surprise, and then shuffled around her papers.

"I suppose then we will start our questioning. What confuses me, Miss Greengrass, is how you have gone from being an unexceptional wallflower to the Carrows' favorite pet. According to your school records, you have barely passed your classes in the last two years. Yet before that, you had the highest marks in your year. What changed?"

"The Dark Lord began recruiting, and my father worried that I would be next. At that point, he seemed to suspect that Malfoy—Draco Malfoy—had taken the Mark. I was very clever and precocious as a child, but I had not made many friends during my years at Hogwarts. I blended in and heard many things that were probably not for my ears; I would have made a perfect spy within the Hogwarts grounds. My parents were trying to hold out against the Dark Lord's sway. As Purebloods, they were expected to join His ranks, but they avoided taking any side. Such as act was regarded as suspicious, and it was best that I escaped suspicion as well. We all had to slip through the cracks, one way or another. My parents' way was to go abroad and avoid the whole thing. My way was to not become a tool of the Dark Lord. I had to be unremarkable."

"And at what point were you noticed by the Carrows?" asked another judge.

"Alecto Carrow sought out my sister on the Hogwarts Express last September and asked where my parents were. I stepped in, and that is when they discovered that I existed. Later, Alecto Carrow singled me out after class to say that joining the Dark Lord could be the redemption I needed to make myself more remarkable."

"And were you interested?"

"In joining the Dark Lord? No. Never."

"At what point did they suspect?"

"A letter came from my parents in October that the Carrows confiscated. They did not find anything suspicious in the letter, and ultimately handed it over to me. In privacy, I decoded the letter and discovered that—"

"Decoded the letter? What magic did you know that the Carrows weren't able to use?" asked a suspicious voice.

"It was not a spell, but a password."

"And do you have this letter still?"

"No, I burned it after, considering the nature of its contents and the effort put into coding the letter in the first place," Astoria explained, then paused. "My parents had made their last will and testimony, providing provisions for the remainder of my sister's and my education. The rest—our family fortune, the estate, and properties abroad—were left in my name. I was the Greengrass heir."

"Did the Carrows ever find out?"

"It wasn't until mid-November that they did. They even forgot about me for awhile until my sister was ordered to report for 'supplementary lessons.' That's what they called it, anyway—using older students to torture anyone whom the Carrows considered out of line," Astoria paused, unsure how to go on. She closed her eyes, treading with dread back to that day. "Alecto Carrow asked me to follow her to the dungeons. My sister was there with Vincent Crabbe. Lavender Brown was to be punished. My sister was to be her torturer, but she couldn't." At that moment, Astoria met the gaze of Daphne, whose eyes were brimmed with tears. "She is too pure of heart. Alecto Carrow then threatened me—either Daphne would torture Brown, or Carrow would hurt me. And that didn't help. I had no choice but to take Daphne's place."

"But you did have a choice, Miss Greengrass."

"And what choice was that?" Astoria shot back. "Best case scenario, Alecto Carrow would have tortured me until she got bored of my sister's inability to perform the Cruciatus Curse."

"Other students faced torture after refusing to do the Carrows' 'supplementary lessons.'"

"Other students weren't Pureblood Slytherins. Saying 'no' to the Carrows was not a mere school infraction. It was high treason."

Augusta Longbottom redirected the questions, seeing Astoria on edge.

"So then you were to perform the Cruciatus Curse on Miss Brown, is that correct?"

"Yes, I did. Alecto Carrow was happy to provide… instruction." The court was quiet for a moment, but in Astoria's mind she could clearly hear Alecto's taunting jeers. She shivered. "I performed the curse per Carrow's bidding and then managed to end up alone with Miss Brown in the dungeons. I asked her if she wanted to forget the torture. She said yes. I Stunned her, Obliviated her so that she would not remember anything after she was lead into the dungeon, put a Cheering Charm on her to help her recover, and then revived her and left before she had come to."

"And Miss Brown is now…?"

"Dead," she said, then swallowed, remembering Finnigan begging her to stay alive. "Fenrir Greyback," she explained with distaste.

"It is a little bit far-fetched that your act of 'mercy' has been essentially erased, along with all the other detention records," huffed a member of the Wizengamot.

"But there were others," said a voice. "There was a rumor of a witch or wizard who erased the memory of students being tortured. The Master of Memory. It's come up in a couple of depositions and general accounts of the school year."

"Miss Greengrass, do you know the identity of the students whose memories of their torture was erased?"

"Lavender Brown. Susan Bones. Anthony Goldstein. Neville Longbottom—but I didn't do a very good job with him, and he recovered some of his memories."

"So, you are saying that you did it? That you were the Master of Memory?"

"I think Mr. Longbottom can attest to that."

"But still," voiced the not-entirely-convinced Wizengamot member, "Miss Pansy Parkinson's testimony suggests a different light on Miss Greengrass."

"Parkinson? Really?" drawled Astoria. "This court is using the testimony a witch convicted of Dark crimes to judge my character?" The judge didn't seem to like Astoria's retort.

"She said, and I quote, that 'the upstart Greengrass brat'—that is, Miss Astoria Greengrass…"

"She would call me that…"

"…'was trying to get on the Carrows' good side to save face for her parents, thinking that she could possibly get the Mark when she was not a true believer.'"

"Yes, so even idiotic Parkinson thought that I wasn't up to par to get the Dark Mark. That should be telling," Astoria rolled her eyes, tired of the stupid questions. Alastair gave her a sharp glare to order her to watch her tongue. She couldn't sass the people deciding her fate. Astoria sighed.

"So were you trying to get the Mark?"

"No, never! The Dark Lord was tearing apart my family. My parents had to flee, go completely underground. And the Carrows had no problem turning the tables on me once they found that out. I hated them," Astoria spat.

"Miss Greengass," Judge Macmillan spoke out for the first time in the trial, "what did the Carrows do to you when they found out?"

Astoria felt her stomach churn. How could she forget what they did to her? For a moment she was lost. Smells had become strangely evocative in the past year. She remembered the damp smell of the stone floor under her cheek and the blood that trickled down her neck. She snapped out of her daze, remembering where she was. To recover, Astoria smiled flippantly.

"It was the first time a Slytherin was dragged to the dungeons to be tortured instead of doing the torturing." Her smile quickly faded. "My parents had left a vault in Gringotts in my name before they disappeared. I knew the Carrows would come after me. I tried to feign innocence, then deflect the Carrows' questioning, but they grew bored easily. The Cruciatus Curse." Astoria bit her lip, unable to speak. How to make sense of a senseless thing? "But I didn't know anything. All I knew was that my parents had fled—where, I didn't know—and that there was only money in the vault, and just enough for our education and modest living expenses. But the Carrows weren't about to stop until they had gotten what they wanted. They only stopped when Snape came in."

"Severus Snape?" The court seemed to grumble.

"Yes, it was Snape. As it turned out, the Carrows had told Snape about their plans to interrogate me, but they decided to start early. Snape wasn't very pleased about that. He used Veritaserum on me and proved that I didn't know anything. However, the Carrows were not convinced of my loyalty in light of my parents' desertion. They were going to force me to take the Mark, but Snape convinced them that I was too young and of no use to the Dark Lord. I suspect he saved me on more than one occasion," Astoria quietly mused. She thought back to all of the articles she had read in the Prophet; few mentioned Snape. Where had he even been buried…?

"Did the Carrows suspect that you were working against them?"

"Yes. At one point they called me into Snape's office, but in the end nothing came of it. They had no evidence, and Snape had bigger things to worry about."

"And despite this, the Carrows still entrusted you to continue doing their bidding."

"I had to as a sign of allegiance."

"So you considered yourself an ally?" asked a beguiling judge.

"The minute the Carrows threatened the safety and happiness of my family, they were my enemy," Astoria fiercely whispered.

"And even as your uncle, then considered a threat to the puppet regime, took sanctuary in your house, the Carrows continued to have you torture students?"

"Yes."

"And after your parents died, they continued to call on you?"

"My parents didn't die, they were murdered."

"Miss Greengrass, please answer the question."

"Yes."

"We have the date recorded as April 12th. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Did you leave school for the funeral?"

"There was no funeral. They… they haven't been found." Astoria felt very small in the room of fifty judges, scrutinizing her every word. A cup gently fluttered over to where she sat and was magically filled with water. The cool liquid eased the tightness in her throat a bit and bought her time to gain some composure. She looked at Victor for a moment, and he gave an encouraging nod.

"During everything, I felt… I felt… frightened. All the time. I never knew when the Carrows would call on me. I was frightened for my family's safety. I hated the Carrows with every fiber of my being, and to the school I was their favorite. My life was a lie; I was a puppet, constantly acting and having my threads pulled by everyone. The Carrows, Dumbledore's Army, my allies, my enemies—everyone had a use for me, and if I said no, I was as good as dead. I felt guilty and tense. I didn't sleep very well, and I couldn't eat much. I was angry too. Angry at my situation, angry at what I had been forced to do, angry at my parents for leaving, angry about my lost childhood. We all thought that Hogwarts was the safest place, and I think it turned out to be hell for everyone. It was no paradise to me."

There. She had told the court her feelings. Feeling naked, she tugged at the corner of her sleeve. The court quietly whispered to each other for a moment. Astoria simply looked at her family. Alastair's face was unreadable. He was all high cheekbones, celery green eyes, and a perfectly pressed grey suit. Victor sat next to him, his expression and features softer and kinder, despite the worry lines that had begun to press into his face during the last year. Then there was Daphne, perfectly polished Daphne, with her luminous blonde hair that tumbled down her shoulders in thick waves and her familiar and warm sea green eyes.

"Miss Greengrass, we need to know what happened during those detentions. There must have been a reason why the Carrows favored you as they did."

Astoria felt a knot tie in her stomach. It would be difficult to make her actions seem less damning. After all, she often acted independently of the Carrows. The only spell they ordered her to do was the Cruciatus. Every other spell was on her own accord. Obviously, her choice of spells was probably less cruel than what the Carrows would have selected if given the choice, but she was known for her efficiency and finesse. She knew how to break the students down until all they knew was their primal fear. It was a different sort of cruelty; she played mind games, and that sort of damage took longer to heal than bruises and cuts.

"The second student that I had a 'supplementary lesson' with was Susan Bones. She had lost a lot of family during the two wars, and so she was pretty vocal about fighting back. I understand the kind of loyalty she felt toward her family and toward Mr. Potter."

Astoria continued though each student: Anthony Goldstein, Neville Longbottom (multiple times), Michael Corner, Nigel Wespurt, Ernie Macmillan. She left out Abbott; the pregnant Hufflepuff didn't count anyway. Did Augusta Longbottom know she was going to be a great grandmother?

The court seemed exhausted by the recent evidence too and after a long of time of listing the spells and details she could remember of the sessions, the court called a ten minute recess, after which Fiona Davis would speak.

"Well, the first part went well, but I suppose that's where I come in," Fiona shrugged.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Victor said gently to Fiona and Mr. Davis.

"Right. Thanks," Fiona managed to say. It had been a month and ten days, and it hadn't gotten much easier. "Do you think they believe you? That you did it because you had to?

"Some. Most. A lot of the evidence, obviously, has been erased. I understand why they are suspicious. My chumminess with Malfoy and Zabini clearly hasn't helped." Astoria and Fiona made similar grimaces.

"Well, they aren't exactly anyone's favorites now, are they?"

"It is a little uncanny how alike you two are," Alastair muttered into Astoria's ear as Fiona checked her watch again.

"I'm just happy she has a friend," Daphne, who overheard, sighed.

"Well, we had better return," Astoria murmured. Then, to Fiona, "Whatever happens, thank you for coming."

"Of course," Fiona's expression softened. Again, she checked her watch.

"Is everything alright?" Astoria frowned.

"Fine, minus the fact that you are on trial. We should go in."

Fiona's questioning went smoothly. Tracey Davis's death had not gone unnoticed, so her sister's testimony was advantageous. Fiona recounted the events: her torture, her sister's dramatic entrance, Theo bringing Astoria into the dungeon, and how Astoria went to Michael Corner to bring her and Tracey to Dumbledore's Army's hiding spot.

"So, your sister wasn't the Master of Memory?"

"No. Rumors were that Theo couldn't remember anything about what had happened, and surely the Carrows would have tried to extract any information they could out of him. But Tracey didn't make him forget—Astoria did. Neville and Seamus Finnigan knew it as well. Astoria had to hurry with her spellwork after being in the dungeons with Neville, and he ended up recovering his memory. Neville told me, since I was the closest person to her related to DA. We used the information as leverage to have Astoria steal some ingredients from the Potions room for us. Seamus figured it out later when we told how Tracey and I had escaped the Carrows and who helped us."

"And why do you think Miss Greengrass even helped you?"

"There were many reasons, I think. But first, I think it's important to know how much of a risk it was. The Carrows were already doubting her loyalties; if Alecto Carrow had walked in at that moment or if anyone had seen something and reported it to her, Astoria would be dead or wishing she was. And sure, Theo Nott brought Astoria into the situation, but she could have walked out. Instead, she went to Michael Corner, who she had previously been forced to torture, brought him to us, and stayed with us until we were safely delivered.

"Primarily, she helped me and my sister because Theo asked her to. I have learned that Astoria is a most loyal friend. And secondly, she helped us because she respected my sister and to a certain extent, we were friends. We had studied together and intuitively understood each other. She must have thought that we were worth helping; she didn't like the Carrows as much as anyone else."

Just then, a wizard came into the court and brought a note to one of the Aurors guarding the court room. She inspected the note and then brought it to the court reporter, who passed it to the deputy clerk of the court, before it finally reached the hands of Augusta Longbottom.

"Are there any further questions for Miss Davis?" she asked as she began to read the note. "No? Well, Miss Davis, you may take a seat." Fiona took her time standing up and walking across the courtroom, being sure to pass Astoria.

"Miss Greengrass, were you aware that you had other witnesses?" asked Longbottom.

"Other witnesses?" Astoria asked incredulously. Just then, Fiona brushed by her.

"You are not going to Azkaban," she looked Astoria square in the eye. "You can thank me when you are done being mad at me."

"Fiona!" Astoria hissed, but she was a few rows of seats away.

"Miss Greengrass? You have five more witnesses."

"Who? I did not ask anyone else…"

"Luna Lovegood, Hannah Abbott, Seamus Finnigan… and Neville Longbottom and Ernie Macmillan. Timpley, go ahead and enter their names as witnesses, and McGrover, you may bring the witnesses in."

"All of them?"

"I think it would be more efficient in this case."

"Wait, what?" interjected Astoria.

"Well, if you don't want their testimony, at this rate it will be more of a hassle to take them out of the court record, and I believe the court would be interested in what they have to say," Augusta Longbottom said with a swish of her hand.

"Ay," was the court's resounding response, with Mr. Macmillan's voice carrying in the room. Astoria looked to her family, who seemed to be just as surprised as she was. Moments later, Longbottom and Abbott walked in hand-in-hand, followed by Macmillan, whose eyes seemed to be searching out his father, and Luna and Finnigan. Luna waved and Astoria confusedly waved back.

"What is happening?" she whispered to herself.

A large bench was conjured to fit all five of the students. Abbott already had a glow about her, while Luna seemed to be counting the number of judges in the room, skeptical if there actually were fifty. Longbottom gave Astoria a soft, grateful smile while Macmillan didn't seem too happy to be in the courtroom. Finnigan nudged him in the ribs and then winked at Astoria.

"Well, where to begin…?"Augusta began.

"Are there really fifty judges? Because I thought I only counted forty-seven," Luna inquired, adjusting her Butterbeer cap necklace.

"There are fifty," sighed Augusta.

"Alright. My name is Luna Lovegood, and I am going to tell you why Astoria Greengrass is not as wretched as you all are hoping that she is. Because everyone in this court has prejudices, especially against Slytherin Pureblood families like Astoria's. For example, I am still overcoming my initial distrust of Aurors, as there was evidence that they were part of the Rotfang Conspiracy—"

"Miss Lovegood, might we focus on Miss Greengrass?" interrupted a judge.

"Oh, of course," said Luna with her eyes as wide as saucers, "but it's all connected, really."

Luna continued to tell about how she befriended Astoria when feeding the thestrals and later how Astoria helped her search for the wounded after the Battle. She concluded her speech and looked up at the judges.

"Do any of the 'fifty' have any questions for me?"

"I think that will be all, Miss Lovegood. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Longbottom, but it wasn't for you. We are here for Astoria," Luna emphatically clarified. "Oh, Astoria, is your Patronus corporeal yet? You were so close last time."

"It is a thestral," Astoria responded. She preferred Luna asking the questions over the Wizengammot.

"As I suspected. Alright, Neville, your turn."

And Longbottom began his tale of how he found himself on the other end of Astoria's wand and the consequences that came with it; he told how his memories slowly started coming back until he knew she was the Master of Memory. He approached her and used the knowledge to his advantage, but that wasn't the end of his dealings with Astoria Greengrass. He found himself on the other end of her wand many times after. He talked about sides and choices, how he realized that he had, as Astoria told him, viewed the world as black and white. He realized that some choices required an ultimate sacrifice that was unfair to ask of anyone. He talked about Astoria during the "supplementary lessons," how she struggled to maintain her façade for the Carrows and how over the year she got smaller and smaller. He talked about seeing her at the Battle, wounded but refusing treatment because others needed it more than her.

And then it was Abbott's turn, and she managed to make most of the fifty people in the courtroom cry. She confessed her pregnancy and how Astoria refused to torture her. Abbott knew that Astoria had made sure that she was safe during the Battle while ignoring her own wounds until the Battle was over.

"I know there is a lot of concern about the choices that Astoria made, but she made a choice with me. She made the choice to not hurt an innocent, my—our—child," she smiled at Longbottom with tears in her eyes. "And surely, that has to mean something. We all have forgiven her actions. Astoria Greengrass is a good person."

Macmillan awkwardly followed, giving a short explanation of how she tortured him and then later saved his life during the Battle. Finnigan concluded with how she helped in the Battle, picking off Death Eaters from their hidden nook. Hesitantly, he added a little more to his testimony.

"Greengrass, like many, lost family this year. Her parents, who tried to avoid joining Voldemort, were likely killed by Death Eaters. Greengrass always fought to protect her family. And she was right that she had only two choices: servitude or death. Greengrass chose servitude, but she chose it on her own terms. And she chose to return to Hogwarts and fight. She was the youngest person to make that decision, and she probably had the most to lose. I think that final choice should be the one that defines her."

The Wizengamot were quite stunned by the five new testimonies.

"I think the court has heard enough. Miss Greengrass, is there anything you would like to add?" Still shocked, Astoria replied that she didn't. The judges retired to another room, and the court was allowed to stand up and mingle.

"Did you have any idea?" Alastair whispered in her ear as he hugged her.

"None," she whispered back.

"Tori, you have more friends than I thought!" Daphne beamed.

"They are not my—" Astoria began, then reconsidered. "Luna is my friend. Fiona is my friend."

"So you aren't furious at me?" Fiona asked with a wry smile, sneaking up behind her.

"Frankly, I am too tired to be angry."

"Although in my defense, I only wrote to Neville," Fiona explained. "I wasn't expecting everyone else to show up."

"That's because Astoria has friends," Daphne grinned.

"Why is this so shocking?" Astoria grumbled. Victor pulled a face to say the contrary, and Astoria glared at him.

"Hi Astoria," Longbottom greeted her with Abbott in tow.

"Hello."

"I—we—just wanted to give you a proper thank you," Longbottom began. "We really owe you so much. I don't even know how to begin thanking you."

"Well, you already did, I think," Astoria said, eager to get the awkward exchange over with.

"Fiona wrote to me, and after everything that happened we couldn't just do nothing. We had to come and help, because you helped us when we needed it the most."

"In the fall we are going to have a baby shower, and we would really like it if you were there," Abbott began. "It will be on a weekend, and I am sure that you can get permission to Floo from school. I mean, are you going back to Hogwarts?"

"Yes, I plan on it."

"Oh lovely, I am too!" Luna joined the conversation. Amidst all the happy chatter, Astoria realized that her trial was over and her fate was being debated. Use of the Cruciatus Curse and excessive use of magical force were not light crimes. She began to feel woozy. "Astoria, are you suffering from Wrackspurts again? Quick, think positive thoughts—it will make them go away."

"I am simply exhausted." Alastair guided her to a chair, where she was given water. Finnigan came up to her and handed her a scone wrapped in a napkin.

"I brought it in case the trial ran long, but think you need this more than I do," he said softly. Astoria was too tired to protest, and sipped her water and nibbled on the scone.

"How is your friend? The one you mentioned up on the Astronomy Tower. Thomas?"

"Yeah, Dean Thomas," Finnigan raised his eyebrows in surprise. "He's good. We have a lot of catching up to do."

"I am sure. Enjoy your summer."

"You take care of yourself, Greengrass," he put his hands in his pocket, shrugged his shoulders toward her, winked, and then sauntered off. Daphne's eyes looked like she was watching a tennis match, while Alastair grew rigid. Astoria exhaled. What was with the winking? Confused and tired, she wanted nothing more than to fall asleep on the sofa at the Greengrass Estate with the idle chatter of her family as a lullaby.

When she was just a girl, she expected a certain standard of life; with a last name like Greengrass, she expected the world. Now that the war was done, she hardly knew what would come next. Would she have a life of freedom, one in which she could truly make her own choices? Or would she become a prisoner again, this time literally? Every time she wanted something, it seemed to fly away from her reach. She wanted the end of the Carrows, but it came with consequences. She wanted to go home, only to find it missing her parents. She wanted to return to a somewhat normal life after the Battle, but instead she was on trial. Life had been heavy the past few years, and she needed some lightness of being.

She finished the entire scone. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. After thirty minutes, the judges began to file back into the room. Everyone took a seat, while Astoria stood in the middle of the room. It seemed like an eternity passed as the fifty judges took their place.

"We, the judges of the Wizengamot, are dropping all charges against Astoria Greengrass, as there is not sufficient evidence to conclude that Miss Greengrass is a threat to the wizarding society. You are free to go," Augusta Longbottom banged her gavel, and the court erupted in cheers. She immediately turned around to dive into the arms of her sister, her uncle, and Victor. Macmillan nodded and left the room, but Finnigan lingered in the doorway a few more moments. Smiling, Astoria caught his eye before he slipped out of the room. Fiona, Longbottom, Abbott, and Luna came by to give her a hug or a pat on the back.

"Can we get out of here?" Astoria asked Daphne, Victor, and Alastair. She felt like her chest was going to burst. Daphne was crying. Alastair put a supportive arm around her waist and led her out of the room, pushing past the two journalists sent to cover her trial. The family marched to the nearest Floo and was quickly swished back to the Greengrass Estate.

"Can we get out of here?"Astoria asked again.

"Astoria, you are safe, you don't have to go anywhere," Victor reassured her.

"I know, I just want to run away for a bit, put some distance between myself and everything that has happened. I was thinking Greece," she said softly. Daphne's eyes widened.

"Yes yes yes! Our island. Oh, can we go, can we go?" she begged Victor. "It could be paradise!"

"Well, it is your island, so I cannot exactly say no," Alastair said.

"For how long?" Daphne swiveled to Astoria.

"Two weeks. Three weeks. Until I am ready to come home. Please come," Astoria turned to her uncle and Victor.

"Contrary to popular belief, we do have jobs," Alastair began.

"What he means is that we will come for a week," Victor interjected, causing Alastair to glare at him. "What? I've always wanted to go to a private island."

"So, Tori, when do we leave?"

"How about now?" Astoria said, causing Daphne to laugh. "I am serious. We can pack and leave in a few hours. We can Floo there, right?"

"Most of the Floo restrictions have been lifted. I don't see why not," Victor shrugged.

Astoria slowly smiled.

"Well then, that is settled. Let's get packing and be off."

---

(42)

On June 10th he spent most of the day laying in bed with his stomach churning. His mother was tempted to call a Healer, but his father told her to leave him be. Narcissa sighed and left her son and husband alone.

"Who is Astoria Greengrass, Draco?"

"You know who she is, Father."

"But who is she to you?"

Draco eyed his father. His eyes were slightly glassy; he had been drinking.

"You know your mother is quite set on matching you with Daphne."

"That will never happen."

"Oh how disappointing," Lucius said in a deadpan tone. "But what is she like?"

"Daphne?"

"No, Astoria."

"Why does it matter?" Draco stared at the ceiling.

"Because she saved your life. Twice." Lucius lingered in the doorway as Draco searched for the words.

"She is incredibly clever. Magically proficient. Not very good at making friends, but somehow good at gaining allies. There is something about her that makes people want to protect her. She did not make it through the year unscarred, but she made it. She is resilient. But her mind is like… I do not know what. I have never met anyone with a mind like hers, and I am not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing."

"Then it sounds like she is going to be just fine. I wouldn't worry, son."

"I did not say I was worried," Draco snapped. Lucius gave him a bored sneer and walked out of the room.

Draco wasn't worried. That was what he told himself all day. And at night, those who were dead, were not dead—they were just living in his head. Vincent. Gregory. Pansy. Davis. Nott Senior. His dear Auntie Bellatrix. The Dark Lord. He woke up a number of times in the night, feeling the Dark Lord's hands gripping his shoulder. Draco went to the kitchen to get water in the night and saw Eve. She watched him carefully.

"Have you heard anything about the Greengrass trial?" he asked casually, his voice loud in the silent house.

"I am surprised you care."

"I don't care."

"Then you can wait until the morning post comes," she smirked and left the room. Draco muttered bitch under his breath. "I heard that, you coward. You'll be lucky if you even see that newspaper."

And that was how he ended up sitting in a sofa in the foyer most of the early morning until Eve's shift ended at 6 am and Auror Kendrick flitted into the building with the newspaper in hand.

"Please," Draco gritted his teeth. "The newspaper."

"She got off, the Greengrass girl," the Auror chirped. "Completely cleared of all charges. Page four, in case you want to read." Draco all but ripped the newspaper from her hand, scowled at Eve, and began to flip to page four as he went up to his room.

---

(U.F.O)

They had been in Greece for only a few days, and she felt immensely better. Astoria's days were full of sunshine, toes in sand, walks to different parts of the island, a few Greek books, and an abundance of food. She slept better, had more energy, and was certain after a few weeks her clothes would fit properly again. And her freckles were back with vengeance. Astoria was able to think with a wistful smile that her mother would have been dismayed while her father would comment that it wasn't Astoria's fault that she tanned like a Greengrass instead of the fair Fawley family on her mother's side.

Over the years, the small but functional villa had been well-maintained by a House Elf named Mikros, who behaved like an old Greek grandmother who was occasionally grumpy but mostly wanted to feed an army. Surprised by the visit, she grumbled in Greek about how she had not bought food for the family and proceeded to go out to the market. Astoria and Alastair found it quite amusing—Astoria because of the funny Greek House Elf language and Alastair because Mikros was clearly a free elf—but Victor and Daphne were confused by the whole exchange. Mikros came back to the house with olives, bread, a colorful Greek salad with a generous hunk of feta cheese, flaky spanakopita, fried squid still hot from the oil, fasolada (a white bean soup), a Greek-style ratatouille, slow-cooked lamb, and traditional baklava for dessert. The family ate on the balcony overlooking the dark ocean and promptly went to bed. Astoria, stuffed from dinner, heaved herself to her bedroom, flung open the window so she could hear the ocean, and nestled herself into bed, where she slept until almost noon the next morning.

Alastair had not been to the villa since he was a child, and Daphne and Victor were as excited as children, so they let Astoria sleep and went clambering on the rocks until noon, at which time Astoria woke up and Mikros was preparing a massive lunch. Astoria pulled the curtains back and poked her head out the window to see her family wandering back toward the villa. The world seemed to be a gem: sapphire blue ocean, white gold sand, opal cliffs, and emerald trees. Daphne whispered to her one night that she swore she would find somewhere the streets were paved with gold for them, but Astoria said that they had already found it in their island paradise. The best part about it was that it was all hers.

Mikros brought her a snack every three hours. Daphne insisted that Astoria grow out her fringe and braided the hair out of her eyes. Alastair and Victor held hands. The worry lines faded slightly from all their faces and the dark circles under their eyes all but disappeared. They slept without their wands under their pillows. Victor nagged Alastair to not work. Daphne nagged Astoria to wear sunscreen. When Astoria's thoughts and memories weighed upon her, she went out to the sea and let them wash away. She swam out to the wave line and reminded herself that she was buoyant, floating over the dips and curves of the sea.

One day, Alastair took them out to a spot where he and Thomas used to go cliff diving. The drop was about 25 feet to a deep pool of water.

"You actually jumped that?" Victor asked incredulously.

"Only once. Thomas was an instigator and persuasive to boot."

"Well, I'm not doing it," Daphne declared. "Astoria?"

"Alright."

Her feet left the cliff and air rushed past her before the water hit her body and she slipped down through the sea. She waited until she stopped plunging down and kicked up to the surface, feeling air bubbles tickle past her face. She came to the surface, lungs searching for air, and it took a few moments for her to hear her family above.

"I can't believe you just did that!" Daphne squealed in shock.

"Bravo, Astoria!"

She didn't know which way she was going, and sometimes it felt like she was just rowing upstream. Astoria knew she had a long way to go, that there would still be nights when she would wake up screaming and days when her memories wouldn't leave her alone, but the island gave her a feeling of security and tranquility to process the last year of her life. Treading water and laughing below her family, she wondered why her parents had never taken them before—it really was a paradise.

So when she closed her eyes, she heard her mother shouting at her to put on sunscreen and to wait up for Daphne. Her father reached out a brown hand, his olive green eyes twinkling, and Astoria took it, unafraid of the brave new world that lay ahead.