This was my routine:

Go to class, walk really slowly to next class, grab a sandwich, go to other lessons, spend lunchtimes with Umbridge who seemed to think I was her little pet, go to class, wander the grounds until midnight, hide in my bed and finish all of my homework, hide homework in my drawers, and go to class.

You might notice there isn’t sleep written on there; that would be because I haven’t slept in two weeks. You also might notice that there are no social interactions on there – well I do talk to Umbridge, but she isn’t human so she doesn’t count. I’m beginning to think she’s a minion of the anti-Christ.

I was also becoming steadily depressed. Oh yay! I don’t speak to people! Yay!

P.S. on one of my walks, I found out Hagrid was back, but I have no idea where he was because, what was it Umbridge told me last lunchtime...? Oh yeah, “Do not disgrace yourself by socialising with disgusting half-breeds.” I still think it’s worse that I spend time with the anti-Christ. Actually, she’s more like Satan.

It was a Tuesday night when it happened.

On one of my walks, it was too cold outside, so I wandered the halls. I walked along the seventh floor and I sneezed. It was all too peculiar when a tissue flew at me. I looked around to see who had sent it when I saw a door. The door seemed very familiar, and as I opened it, an insanely unexpected sight met my eyes.

There seemed to be a group of people practicing Defensive spells in this room. Then I realised Harry was leading it. Someone with curly hair standing next to Cho Chang shrieked and pointed at me, and everyone turned.

“Willow?” George said uncertainly.

“You should learn to lock the door.” I said trying not to laugh at how awkward this moment was. I failed, and did laugh but as I left not a moment later, I wondered whether they took my laugh as ‘I’m going to tell on you.’

I awkwardly went up to bed early, and decided to send out my Christmas orders.

I ordered: Fizzing Whizzbees for Luna, Basic hexes for the busy and vexed for Ginny, A big bucket of bertie bots every flavour beans for George, a small crate of chocolate frogs for Fred, A Chudley Cannons Jersey (Which had inscribed: Let’s cross our fingers and hope for the best.) For Ron, Wanderings of a tree in the Alps for Neville, Extreme incantations for shemione, and For Harry I got a book called saucy tricks for tricky sorts.

I didn’t know if they’d buy me things in return, but I found myself not caring. They might have given up hope on me now, but that was cool.

About a week of loneliness passed, and whenever I sat in class with Harry, Ron and Hermione, I felt their eyes staring at me. It was as though they were waiting for me to tell on them, or trying to work out if I had.

Hermione finally approached me as I sat on a wall outside the castle, letting the snow settle in my hair.

“Have you told her anything? Or are you just going to keep torturing us?” Hermione said sharply, it reminded me of McGonagall, straight and to the point.

I stood up turned around, and looked her right in the eyes.

“Best friends don’t tell.” I whispered and I left her standing outside, snow swirling around her, as she tried to work out what was going on.

----------------

I heard Parvati  and Lavender giggling as I was coming out of the bathroom, and I stopped at the door to listen.

“How hideous is this?” Parvati laughed.

“Well, if you were Umbridge you’d like it.” Lavender smirked, and the pair started laughing.

“Ooohh, we should send it to her for Christmas.” Parvati said. “From her secret admirer.”

“She’d probably get her hopes up.” Lavender shrieked.

“We could give her clues to it being from Filch.”

And the pair laughed harder.

I walked into the room, and they abruptly stopped laughing and talking and stared at me until I left the room.

No one likes me anymore, even the teachers are being weird.

Professor McGonagall has been looking at me with these worrying eyes everyday for the past month. It’s deterred me from going to the Great hall for breakfast and dinner because I’m sick of how she stares at me. Professor Flitwick keeps hassling me on why I’ve started failing everything in his class. Professor Snape gives me these weird questioning looks whenever I walk past him. Professor Dumbledore keeps being annoying because I haven’t gotten any new information on Umbridge. Professor Scott took me aside in class and asked if anything was up, I haven’t attended drama since.

Everything is shit.

And then there was Umbridge. She was meant to be observing our care of magical creatures class, but she was nowhere to be seen as I struggled through the snow toward Hagrid, who stood waiting for my class on the edge of the forest. He did not present a reassuring sight; he had purple bruises tinged with green and yellow and some of his cuts still seemed to be bleeding. I wished I’d been around to go and find out where he’d been and what had happened. As though to complete the ominous picture, Hagrid was carrying what looked like half a dead cow over his shoulder.

“We’re workin’ in here today!” Hagrid called happily to the approaching students, jerking his head back at the dark trees behind him. “Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark. . . .”

“What prefers the dark?” I heard Malfoy say sharply to Crabbe and Goyle, a trace of panic in his voice. “What did he say prefers the dark — did you hear?”

I remembered the only occasion on which Malfoy had entered the forest before now; he had not been very brave then either. I smiled to myself. Malfoy’s scared, everything is suddenly beautiful.

“Ready?” said Hagrid happily, looking around at the class. “Right, well, I’ve bin savin’ a trip inter the forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we’d go an’ see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we’re studyin’ today is pretty rare, I reckon I’m probably the on’y person in Britain who’s managed ter train ’em-”

“And you’re sure they’re trained, are you?” said Malfoy, the panic in his voice even more pronounced now. “Only it wouldn’t be the first time you’d brought wild stuff to class, would it?”

The Slytherins murmured agreement and a few Gryffindors looked as though they thought Malfoy had a fair point too.

“’Course they’re trained,” said Hagrid, scowling and hoisting the dead cow a little higher on his shoulder.

“So what happened to your face, then?” demanded Malfoy.

“Mind yer own business!” said Hagrid angrily. “Now if yeh’ve finished askin’ stupid questions, follow me!”

He turned and strode straight into the forest. Nobody seemed much disposed to follow. I set off after Hagrid, even before Ron, Hermione and that other kid they hang out with had a chance.

I walked for about ten minutes until I reached a place where the trees stood so closely together that it was as dark as twilight and there was no snow on the ground at all. Hagrid deposited his half a cow with a grunt on the ground,  stepped back, and turned to face his class again, most of whom were creeping toward him from tree to tree, peering around nervously as though expecting to be set upon at any moment.

“Gather roun’, gather roun’,” said Hagrid encouragingly. “Now, they’ll be attracted by the smell o’ the meat but I’m goin’ ter give ’em a call anyway, ’cause they’ll like ter know it’s me. . . .”

He turned, shook his shaggy head to get the hair out of his face, and gave an odd, shrieking cry that echoed through the dark trees like the call of some monstrous bird. Nobody laughed; most of them looked too scared to make a sound.

Hagrid gave the shrieking cry again. A minute passed in which the class continued to peer nervously over their shoulders and around trees for a first glimpse of whatever it was that was coming. And then, as Hagrid shook his hair back for a third time and expanded his enormous chest.

A pair of blank, white, shining eyes were growing larger through the gloom and a moment later the dragonish face, neck, and then skeletal body of a great, black, winged horse emerged from the darkness. It looked around at the class for a few seconds, swishing its long black tail, then bowed its head and began to tear flesh from the dead cow with its pointed fangs.

Most of the rest of the class were wearing expressions as confused and nervously expectant as Ron’s and were still gazing everywhere but at the horse standing feet from them. There were only two other people who seemed to be able to see them: Harry, and Neville, whose eyes were following the swishing progress of the long black tail.

“Oh, an’ here comes another one!” said Hagrid proudly, as a second black horse appeared out of the dark trees, folded its leathery wings closer to its body, and dipped its head to gorge on the meat. “Now . . .put yer hands up, who can see ’em?”

I raised my hand slightly.

“Yeah . . . yeah, I knew you’d be able ter,” he said seriously to me. “An’ Harry, An’ you too, Neville, eh?”

“Excuse me,” said Malfoy in a sneering voice, “but what exactly are we supposed to be seeing?”

For answer, Hagrid pointed at the cow carcass on the ground. The whole class stared at it for a few seconds, then several people gasped and Parvati squealed. I understood why: Bits of flesh stripping themselves away from the bones and vanishing into thin air had to look very odd indeed.

“What’s doing it?” Parvati demanded in a terrified voice, retreating behind the nearest tree. “What’s eating it?”

“Thestrals,” said Hagrid proudly. “Hogwarts has got a whole herd of ’em in here. Now, who knows-?”

“But they’re really, really unlucky!” interrupted Parvati, looking alarmed. “They’re supposed to bring all sorts of horrible misfortune on people who see them. Professor Trelawney told me once —”

“No, no, no,” said Hagrid, chuckling, “tha’s jus’ superstition, that is, they aren’ unlucky, they’re dead clever an’ useful! ’Course, this lot don’ get a lot o’ work, it’s mainly jus’ pullin’ the school carriages unless Dumbledore’s takin’ a long journey an’ don’ want ter Apparate — an’ here’s another couple, look —”

Two more Thestrals came quietly out of the trees, one of them passing very close to Parvati, who shivered and pressed herself closer to the tree, saying, “I think I felt something, I think it’s near me!”

“Don’ worry, it won’ hurt yeh,” said Hagrid patiently. “Righ’, now, who can tell me why some o’ you can see them an’ some can’t?”

Hermione raised her hand.

“Go on then,” said Hagrid, beaming at her.

“The only people who can see Thestrals,” she said, “are people who have seen death.”

“Tha’s exactly right,” said Hagrid solemnly, “ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, Thestrals —”

“Hem, hem.” Professor Umbridge had arrived. She was standing a few feet away from me, wearing her green hat and cloak, her clipboard at the ready.

Hagrid, who had never heard Umbridge’s fake cough before, was gazing in some concern at the closest thestral, evidently under the impression that it had made the sound.

“Hem, hem.”

“Oh hello!” Hagrid said, smiling, having located the source of the noise.

“You received the note I sent to your cabin this morning?” said Umbridge in a slow voice, as though she was addressing somebody both foreign and very slow. “Telling you that I would be inspecting your lesson?”

“Oh yeah,” said Hagrid brightly. “Glad yeh found the place all righ’! Well, as you can see — or, I dunno — can you? We’re doin’ thestrals today —”

“I’m sorry?” said Umbridge loudly, cupping her hand around her ear and frowning. “What did you say?”

Hagrid looked a little confused.

“Er — thestrals!” he said loudly. “Big — er — winged horses, yeh know!”

He flapped his gigantic arms hopefully. Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows at him and muttered as she made a note on her clipboard,

“ ‘has . . . to . . . resort . . . to . . . crude . . . sign . . . language . . .’ ”

I was very pissed off at this point.

“Well . . . anyway . . .” said Hagrid, turning back to the class and looking slightly flustered. “Erm . . . what was I sayin’?”

“ ‘Appears . . . to . . . have . . . poor . . . short . . . term . . . memory . . .’ ” muttered Umbridge, loudly enough for everyone to hear her. Draco

Malfoy looked as though Christmas had come a month early; Hermione, on the other hand, had turned scarlet with suppressed rage.

“Oh yeah,” said Hagrid, throwing an uneasy glance at Umbridge’s clipboard, but plowing on valiantly. “Yeah, I was gonna tell yeh how come we got a herd. Yeah, so, we started off with a male an’ five females. This one,” he patted the first horse to have appeared, “name o’ Tenebrus, he’s my special favorite, firs’ one born here in the forest —”

“Are you aware,” Umbridge said loudly, interrupting him, “that the Ministry of Magic has classified thestrals as ‘dangerous’?”

My heart sank like a stone, but Hagrid merely chuckled.

“Thestrals aren’ dangerous! All righ, they might take a bite outta you if yeh really annoy them —”

“ ‘Shows . . . signs . . . of . . . pleasure . . . at . . . idea . . . of . . . violence. . . ’ ” muttered Umbridge, scribbling on her clipboard again.

“No — come on!” said Hagrid, looking a little anxious now. “I mean, a dog’ll bite if yeh bait it, won’ it — but thestrals have jus’ got a bad reputation because o’ the death thing — people used ter think they were bad omens, didn’ they? Jus’ didn’ understand, did they?”

Umbridge did not answer; she finished writing her last note, then looked up at Hagrid and said, again very loudly and slowly, “Please continue teaching as usual. I am going to walk” — she mimed walking — Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were having silent fits of laughter — “among the students” — she pointed around at individual members of the class — “and ask them questions.” She pointed at her mouth to indicate talking.

Hagrid stared at her, clearly at a complete loss to understand why she was acting as though he did not understand normal English.

Hermione had tears of fury in her eyes now.

“Erm . . . anyway,” said Hagrid, clearly struggling to regain the flow of his lesson, “so — thestrals. Yeah. Well, there’s loads o’ good stuff abou’ them...”

“Do you find,” said Professor Umbridge in a ringing voice to Pansy Parkinson, “that you are able to understand Professor Hagrid when he talks?”

Just like Hermione, Pansy had tears in her eyes, but these were tears of laughter; indeed, her answer was almost incoherent because she was trying to suppress her giggles.

“No . . . because . . . well . . . it sounds. . . like grunting a lot of the time. . . .”

Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard. The few unbruised bits of Hagrid’s face flushed, but he tried to act as though he had not heard Pansy’s answer.

“Er . . . yeah . . . good stuff abou’ thestrals. Well, once they’re tamed, like this lot, yeh’ll never be lost again. ‘Mazin’ senses o’ direction, jus’ tell ’em where yeh want ter go —”

“Assuming they can understand you, of course,” said Malfoy loudly, and Pansy Parkinson collapsed in a fit of renewed giggles. Professor Umbridge smiled indulgently at them and then turned to Neville.

“You can see the thestrals, Longbottom, can you?” she said. Neville nodded.

“Whom did you see die?” she asked, her tone indifferent.

“My . . . my grandad,” said Neville.

“And what do you think of them?” she said, waving her stubby hand at the horses, who by now had stripped a great deal of the carcass down to bone.

“Erm,” said Neville nervously, with a glance at Hagrid. “Well, they’re . . . er . . . okay. . . .”

“ ‘Students . . . are . . . too . . . intimidated . . . to . . . admit . . . they . . . are . . . frightened. . . .’ ” muttered Umbridge, making another note on her clipboard.

“No!” said Neville, looking upset, “no, I’m not scared of them — !”

“It’s quite all right,” said Umbridge, patting Neville on the shoulder with what she evidently intended to be an understanding smile, though it looked more like a leer to me.

“Miss Hale, you also see the Thestrals?”

“Yes, Professor.” I said like an obedient little bitch.

“And who’s death did you witness?” she said clueless. I just stared.

“Cedric Diggory’s.” I said void of emotion.

“Oh, yes, of course.” She said flustered. Umbridge gathered herself up and asked; “Do you like them?”

“Oh yes.” I smiled. “I think they’re amazing creatures. Can you see them Professor Umbridge?”

“Thankfully, no.” My heart leapt. I had an idea.

“Oh, that’s unlucky. Professor Hagrid, is it safe to pat them?”

“Er, yeh, I guess.” He shrugged.

I walked over and offered my hand out to a random piece of air.

“I think they’re really cute.” I smiled as I patted the air. “Don’t you think Neville?” I asked pointedly. He and Harry both walked forward to the random patch of air that I pretended to pat and joined me. “Thank you for teaching me what these are Professor Hagrid.” I said in that really fake voice I so often used nowadays.

Hagrid hadn’t worked out why we were patting the air, but knew better than to question me.

Umbridge scribbled down on her notebook.

 “Well, Hagrid,” Umbridge turned to look up at him again, speaking once more in that loud, slow voice, “I think I’ve got enough to be getting along with. . . . You will receive” — she mimed taking something from the air in front of her —

“The results of your inspection” — she pointed at the clipboard — “in ten days’ time.” She held up ten stubby little fingers, then, her smile wider and more toadlike than ever before beneath her green hat, she bustled from their midst, leaving Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson in fits of laughter, and Hermione actually shaking with fury.

Neville smiled at me, but Harry was trying to work out whether I was good or evil. He opened his mouth to speak, but in the distance, I heard the bell ring so I stalked off.

--------------------

I’d given Dumbledore my report of the week, and he was pissed at me because there was no new information.

“Well, I’m sorry!” I snapped. “I can’t just walk up to her and say ‘So Umbridge, any plots or plans about Dumbledore?’”

“I still expect you to get some information-“

“It’s not easy! It’s not easy having to talk to her when I know she’s satan! It’s really frricken difficult! She doesn’t tell me everything!”

“You need to gain her trust!”

“I HAVE GAINED HER TRUST!” I shouted. “I SACRIFICED EVERYTHING TO DO IT BUT I HAVE! IF I’M DOING SUCH A SHIT JOB WHY DON’T YOU GO DO IT YOURSELF INSTEAD OF MAKING A KID DO IT FOR YOU!” And I stormed out of his office past McGonagall as I went.

McGonagall? What’s she doing up there?

And embracing my inner sticky beak, I listened on the other side of the closed door.

“What are you playing at?” McGonagall hissed. “Hiding Willow in the dark like this?”

“I have my reasons Minerva-“

“I’m sure you do!” she snapped. “I think you’re afraid. Afraid of her powers and what she could do!”

Intrigued, I pressed my ear closer.

“Do you want another Lord Voldemort on our hands?” Dumbledore said grimly. I’d never heard him speak like that.

Wait what? I’m Voldemort?

“Don’t be ridiculous! That girl is not evil, she’s-“

“She’s got the potential Minerva. She needs to be watched closely-“

“And watching her closely is another term for ripping her from her friends while Dolores brainwashes her?” McGonagall said coldly.

Dumbledore didn’t have an answer for that. And I heard footsteps so I sprinted until I reached a door. A room to hide in.

It just so happened to have a party going on.

There were about forty people grinding on each other and dancing with loud music and flashing lights. Kids of all ages and all houses; first years were there too, which sickened me. And I wondered how the teachers haven’t noticed this.

I found my way to a table covered in cups filled with some drink, so I drank it.  I noticed someone watching me from across the room. I was pulled onto the dance floor by some girls I’d never met, all of whom seemed to be extremely drunk. The music was blaring; the lights were flashing; people were dancing. I looked over to where that person was watching me before, but they were gone.

I’m way out of my depth here.

I sat back at my table to finish my drink and that person was back, staring at me creepily. Something in their eyes made my skin crawl. I think it was a dude. Oh, it was a dude from Gryffindor; this creepy guy the year above us. I finished the drink on the table and stood up, but everything was wobbly. It was like when you watch a movie and the camera swirls around, and you’re shouting at the TV because the girl drank the drink she left unattended and got drugged –

Oh shit. Have I been drugged? Why the hell did I even come to a party like this anyway?

I made for the door before I realised that creepy Gryffindor guy was standing up. No, he wasn’t following me...right? I tried to hurry, but it seemed like a never ending walk through the blaring music; my heart thumping to the beat.

Fear like I’d never felt before shot through me as I tried to run. He was hot on my heels and the world was spinning around worse than ever. I don’t know how but I managed to get outside, in the snow.

I tried to run through it, but I fell hoping the world would swallow me whole.

“So, you want to be known as a whore.” He said advancing on me. “I can help you with that.”

I’d never experienced that much fear in my life. I’d been face-to-face with Voldemort on many occasions and I hadn’t been this scared. I was tortured for ten years, but I still wasn’t this scared then. I knew what I’d faced with them – death. I wasn’t scared of death. I was scared of what a sixteen-year-old boy could do to me.

He put his mouth beside my ear and whispered, “Just scream for help. No one’s going to help you now.” The last thing I heard was his cold echoing laughter before I disappeared.

And I didn’t disapparate, I sort of just faded away, and faded back somewhere else.

It was like apparating. But not.

I was in a corridor. I don’t know what corridor, but I was there. I didn’t seem to be drugged or intoxicated. I was calm, perfectly calm. I walked along the corridor and saw Mr. Weasley lying there, barely awake, soaking in his own blood, but I didn’t worry.

I used my wand to make a goblet appear, and I filled it with water.

“Mr. Weasley. Mr. Weasley. Arthur!” I said loudly, and he looked at me, his eyes rolling in his head. “Drink this.” I ordered. “It will help flush the venom from your system.” As I helped him drink, I wondered what I was talking about. What venom? “Arthur, I’ll be back in a moment. Keep drinking the water, okay?”

He murmured in assent and I walked along the corridor, somehow knowing what to do. I found a snake trying to escape, and I recognised it as Nagini, the snake Voldemort has. I found a flask in my hand, and I milked the fangs for venom. I don’t know why I did it, or how I did it, but I did.

“I’m here,” I told him. “Keep drinking the water.” And I refilled the goblet and poured the water into his mouth.

“Who.....Are.....You?” he managed. It didn’t seem strange that he didn’t recognise me.

“I’m your Guardian Angel.” I told him gently. “I’ll always make sure you and your family are safe.”

“Thank you.” his voice whispered to me.

I sat there with him in my arms until other people came.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” one of them shouted at me, as the other two tended to Mr. Weasley.

“This is the snakes Venom.” I said giving them the flask. “Give it to the hospital so they can find the anti-venom.”

“You’re going to have to come with me.” And I let him drag me along with him up a few corridors and what not. We passed a portrait that seemed all too eager to know what was going on.

I then faded away again.

I reappeared in Dumbledore’s office, feeling quite as awful as I had earlier. So much so, that I fell over sideways and ended up on the floor.

“Willow?” Harry said, worriedly, pulling me to my feet. “What? Is that blood? How’d you know to come here?”

“I didn’t.” I said breathing heavily as what just happened sank in. “Mr. Weasley, he’s hurt.” I told Dumbledore.

“Why are you covered in blood?” Ron asked.

 “How do you know?” Dumbledore quizzed me. “About Arthur.”

I didn’t want to answer either question, especially now that the room started to slide in and out of focus again. I was either going to Vomit or fall over. Or both.  Thankfully, I was spared answering the question as the door opened.

Fred, George, and Ginny were ushered inside by Professor McGonagall; all three of them looking dishevelled and shocked, still in their night things.

“Harry — what’s going on?” asked Ginny, who looked frightened. “Professor McGonagall says you saw Dad hurt — Willow – is that blood –? “ 

“Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix,” said Dumbledore before I could speak. “He has been taken to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius’s house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than the Burrow. You will meet your mother there.” I grabbed Harry’s sleeve to prevent myself from falling again.

Maybe I’d pass out.

“How’re we going?” asked Fred, looking shaken. “Floo powder?”

“No,” said Dumbledore, “Floo powder is not safe at the moment, the Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey.” He indicated the old kettle lying innocently on his desk. “We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back. . . . I wish to be sure that the coast is clear before sending you —”

There was a flash of flame in the very middle of the office, leaving behind a single golden feather that floated gently to the floor.

“It is Fawkes’s warning,” said Dumbledore, catching the feather as it fell. “She must know you’re out of your beds. . . . Minerva, go and head her off — tell her any story —”

Professor McGonagall was gone in a swish of tartan.

“He says he’ll be delighted,” said a bored voice behind Dumbledore; the wizard called Phineas had reappeared in front of his Slytherin banner. “My great-great-grandson has always had odd taste in houseguests. . . .”

“Come here, then,” Dumbledore said to us. “And quickly, before anyone else joins us . . .”

We gathered around Dumbledore’s desk.

“You have all used a Portkey before?” asked Dumbledore, and we nodded, each reaching out to touch some part of the blackened kettle. I think I’m going to pass out.

“Good. On the count of three then . . . one . . . two . . .”

I felt a powerful jerk behind my navel, the ground vanished from beneath my feet, my hand was glued to the kettle; I was banging into the others as all sped forward in a swirl of colours and a rush of wind, the kettle pulling them onward and then —

My feet hit the ground so hard that I fell over again, the kettle clattered to the ground and somewhere close at hand a voice said,

“Back again, the blood traitor brats, is it true their father’s dying . . . ?”

“OUT!” roared a second voice.

I looked around, and despite the whirling in my head, I couldn’t help notice that he had arrived in the gloomy basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Sirius was hurrying toward us all, looking anxious. He was unshaven and still in his day clothes; there was also a slightly Mundungus-like whiff of stale drink about him.

“What’s going on?” he said, stretching out a hand to help Ginny up. “Phineas Nigellus said Arthur’s been badly injured —”

“Ask Harry,” said Fred.

“Yeah, I want to hear this for myself,” said George.

My head was spinning, and I wished for nothing more than to lie on this floor forever. Sirius, however helped me up.

“It was —” Harry began. “I had a — a kind of — vision. . . .”

He told us that he’d seen a snake attacking Mr. Weasley from the sidelines.

“Is Mum here?” said Fred, turning to Sirius.

“She probably doesn’t even know what’s happened yet,” said Sirius.

“The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledore’s letting Molly know now.”

I was going to fall over again.

“We’ve got to go to St. Mungo’s,” said Ginny urgently. She looked around at her brothers; they were of course still in their pajamas. “Sirius, can you lend us cloaks or anything — ?”

“Hang on, you can’t go tearing off to St. Mungo’s!” said Sirius.

“ ’Course we can go to St. Mungo’s if we want,” said Fred, with a mulish expression, “he’s our dad!”

“And how are you going to explain how you knew Arthur was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?”

“What does that matter?” said George hotly.

“It matters because we don’t want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!” said Sirius angrily. “Have you any idea what the Ministry would make of that information?”

Fred and George looked as though they could not care less what the Ministry made of anything. Ron was still white-faced and silent.

Ginny said, “Somebody else could have told us. . . . We could have heard it somewhere other than Harry. . . .”

“Like who?” said Sirius impatiently. “Listen, your dad’s been hurt while on duty for the Order and the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage the Order’s —”

“We don’t care about the dumb Order!” shouted Fred.

“It’s our dad dying we’re talking about!” yelled George.

“Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won’t thank you for messing things up for the Order!” said Sirius angrily in his turn. “This is how it is — this is why you’re not in the Order — you don’t understand — there are things worth dying for!”

“Easy for you to say, stuck here!” bellowed Fred. “I don’t see you risking your neck!”

“I know it’s hard, but we’ve all got to act as though we don’t know anything yet. We’ve got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, all right?”

The shouting was going to make my head explode, and I found myself leaving the room, heading up the stairs to the bathroom I’d claimed last time I was here.

And I did what any fourteen-year-old who had been drugged after having too much to drink and finding out someone she loves is probably dying.

I hugged the toilet and puked my guts out.

I don’t know how long I was there for, but I heard someone at the door, and as I turned, someone was standing there frowning at me.

“What have you done to yourself?” he asked kindly.

“Nothing.” I said thickly.

“Willow-“ It was Lupin.

“I’m happy!”

“Impossible.”

“What! Everyone else is allowed to be happy, but I can’t be?” I shouted.

“Are you happy Willow?” Lupin asked sitting beside me. “Are you truly happy?”

I looked into his eyes, and it was impossible not to burst out crying.

“I don’t know what I took. Someone put something in my drink.” Lupin pulled me into a hug. “I’ve stuffed everything up, and it’s terrible. I’m awful to everyone. Dumbledore thinks I’m going to end up like Voldemort.” I cried. “I hate me.”

“Well, I love you, if that helps.” He said into my hair as I sobbed onto his shoulder. I don’t know how long I bawled my eyes out for, but I was sober when I stopped, Lupin smiled at me. “Feeling better?”

“I feel like shit.” I said honestly, as my nose didn’t stop running.

“Is the world still spinning?”

“No.”

“Bonus.” He smiled at me. “Clean yourself up, and may I ask? Why are you covered in blood?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not real.” I found myself saying. For some reason I felt I shouldn’t tell anyone about seeing Mr. Weasley. Or about that creepy  Gryffindor guy. I shuddered at the thought.

“What’s wrong?” he asked worriedly. He must have noticed the shudder.

“Just cold.” I lied.

He gave me a swift searching look and then left.

I looked in the mirror and saw the make-up that I’ve started to wear all the time smudged all down my face, so I removed it. I took out the horrible earrings that I’d worn and replaced them with the cool llama earrings I kept in my pocket. I combed out the weird tangled mane of hair I had and finally, I looked like normal Willow.

The Willow with straight Golden hair, The Willow who never wears make-up because it’s false advertising, The Willow who likes llamas, The Willow who’s different and proud.

I’m happy.

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oh yeah, willow's happy yeah!

P.S. I don't know why this is called sheep, it just is. K. Thanks. baii.