A/N: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! And happiest of holidays to those who don't.

Thank you all for joining me on this incredible journey this year. Some of you have been here since March, while others have been here for only a couple weeks. Regardless of how long you've been reading this story, thank you so much for supporting me and my wild idea. Thank you for loving this story. Thank you for encouraging me to keep doing what I do, because I truly love doing it.

I know this part of the story is so incredibly dark. But I wanted to try to share a little bit of light this Christmas. So... here you go. Chapter 100, "Oh My Dear." I hope you all enjoy.

HARRY:

Lucy didn't appear in the Great Hall until a couple minutes before we had to head to our first class. She slid into the open seat between the twins and immediately pulled a small glass vial from her bag.

"Did Professor McGonagall already come by with the schedules?" she asked breathlessly, shaking the glass up and down.

"Yeah, she gave me yours," I said as I slid it across the table.

"Thanks." Lucy popped the cap and downed whatever was inside in a single swallow. She grimaced as she set it down, shaking her head in disgust.

I was about to ask what it was when Neville spoke up. "Lucy, was that...?"

"Just something that might help with the shaking," she said quickly — too quickly — holding a hand up for emphasis. "It started over summer and it's been rather annoying, really, but it hasn't been serious enough to go to St. Mungo's." Neville looked as if he wanted to say something else, but Lucy glanced down at her schedule and sighed. "Defense Against the Dark Arts first? Didn't we get a week's worth of class lectures from her speech last night?"

"A month's, more like," Ron retorted.

"We have her second, if that makes you feel any better," Fred volunteered with a shrug. "We can wallow in our misery together at lunch."

The bell tolled over our heads, and we made our way to the DADA classroom. We entered silently, unsure as to how lenient or strict Umbridge would be as a teacher.

"Well, good morning!" she said once we had all settled in.

A couple people mumbled a half-hearted "Good morning."

Umbridge shook her head. "Tut, tut. That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good morning, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good morning, class!"

"Good morning, Professor Umbridge," we replied robotically.

"There, now. That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

Lucy's hand clenched around her wand. Rather than tucking it into her bag, she tucked it into her pocket with her right hand as she got a quill and ink and parchment from her bag with her left. I followed suit. I had gotten in the habit of having my wand on me at all times. I didn't want to tuck it away, especially not while Lucy was beside me.

The words Defense Against the Dark Arts: A Return to Basic Principles appeared on the board.

"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it? The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year. You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

With another flick of her wand, the board changed.

Course aims:
1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.
2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.
3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

Once this was copied down, she asked, "Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?" A half-hearted sound of confirmation rippled through the classroom, but it wasn't good enough for her. "I think we'll try that again. When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

I fought not to roll my eyes. "Yes, Professor Umbridge."

"Good. I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."

I tried to read it, somewhat, but I was distracted by the sight of Hermione's hand in the air. Before long, the whole class was staring at her; well, everyone except Umbridge.

Finally, Umbridge acknowledged her. "Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?"

"Not about the chapter, no."

"Well, we're reading just now. If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims."

"And your name is...?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully."

"Well, I don't. There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

Umbridge laughed after a moment of stunned silence. "Using defensive spells? Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron asked.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr.-"

"Weasley."

But when Ron raised his hand, she turned her back on him. I shot my own hand up, and Hermione did too.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes. Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?"

"No, but-"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way-"

I shook my head indignantly. "What use is that? If we're going to be attacked it won't be in a-"

"Hand, Mr. Potter!"

I lifted my hand again, but she turned her back on me and addressed Dean, whose hand was now up.

"And your name is?"

"Dean Thomas."

"Well, Mr. Thomas?"

"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it? If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free-"

"I repeat, do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"

"No, but-"

"I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school, but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed — not to mention extremely dangerous half-breeds."

The entire class stiffened at that. Chaos slowly began to unfold, the students versus Umbridge, who tried desperately (but in vain) to maintain order.

"If you mean Professor Lupin, he was the best we ever-"

"Hand, Mr. Thomas! As I was saying — you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day-"

"No we haven't, we just-"

"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger! It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you-"

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he? Mind you, we still learned loads-"

"Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas! Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?"

"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the countercurses and things?"

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions."

"Without ever practicing them before? Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"

"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough-"

I shot my hand into the air. "And what good's theory going to be in the real world?"

"This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world."

"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter."

"Oh yeah?" I challenged, on the edge of my seat.

"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?"

"Hmm, let's think... maybe Lord Voldemort?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter." Umbridge looked rather pleased with herself. "Now, let me make a few things quite plain. You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead-"

"He wasn't dead, but yeah, he's returned!" I interrupted.

"Mr.-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself! As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."

My anger peaked. "It is NOT a lie! I saw him, I fought him!"

"Detention, Mr. Potter! Tonight. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.'"

"Not in danger? What about my brother, wasn't he in danger?" scoffed a cold voice to my left.

Lucy had entered the discussion.

Her hand was dutifully in the air, both halves of the ring blazing scarlet.

"Is there something you would like to say, Miss Everlin?" Professor Umbridge asked in a falsely sweet voice.

"Diggory," Lucy corrected through gritted teeth. "Yes, I'd like to say I am so very tired of everybody thinking my brother's death was anything other than what it was: murder."

The room fell silent. Lucy did not falter.

Umbridge's smile faded to nothingness. "Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident."

"My brother was an incredibly talented wizard," Lucy said loudly, rising to her feet. "He was the top of his class. Hufflepuff prefect, Quidditch Captain. He learned the Patronus Charm in a single night. He was a Triwizard Champion, on track to becoming Head Boy, hoping to one day become a healer. No 'accident' would have killed him. To say his death was an accident is unfathomable. It is nothing more than a lie."

"You can join Potter in detention, Miss Everlin," Umbridge snapped, her air of sweetness completely gone.

"Diggory!" Lucy and I shouted in unison.

I jumped to my feet, too. "So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?"

"His death was a tragic accident!" Umbridge repeated.

"It was murder." I drew a shaky breath. "Voldemort killed him, and you know it."

Silence fell again. Umbridge's face was a perfect blank for a second.

"Come here, both of you."

Lucy and I walked to the front of the room side-by-side, not looking at each other.

"Take these to Professor McGonagall," she said, pressing identical pink notes into our hands.

"Gladly," Lucy snapped, glaring at Umbridge. "'Silence is cowardice with no guarantee of safety.' Do you know who said that, Professor?"

"Pardon?"

"My mother died for the truth. Cowards are silent. Only the most shameful liar would adamantly push the falsehood that Voldemort hasn't returned. And you are exactly that, Professor."

With that, Lucy spun on her heel and marched back to our shared desk. I followed half a second later. We still avoided each other's eyes as we grabbed our books and bags and left the classroom.

Lucy made sure the door slammed loudly behind us.

Then for the first time, we dared to glance at each other.

I half-expected Lucy to break down. That had been the angriest I had ever seen her, surely the wave of sadness would follow. But to my surprise, she didn't break at all. Rather, she lifted her chin and offered a smug smile.

"Do you pity her?"

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

Lucy shoved her hand into her bag as we started walking toward Professor McGonagall's office, eventually pulling out a worn piece of parchment.

I recognized it instantly and grinned.

I've never seen you look so murderous, Lu, and I pity the poor soul who receives your full unbridled anger one day.

I pity them too. Don't worry, I don't plan on exploding at anyone.

Unless they deserve it?

"No, I don't pity her," I scoffed.

"Neither do I," Lucy replied, putting the piece of parchment in her pocket rather than in her bookbag. "She deserved it."

"I just hope McGonagall agrees," I muttered.

"Even if she doesn't, I don't regret it one bit. I can't wait to read what wonderful things Umbridge has surely written about us."

Professor McGonagall's office was quite far from the DADA classroom, so Lucy and I had a bit more time to talk. So, I asked a question.

"Lu, I know what Professor Lupin said, but since you mentioned it-"

"Yeah, I figured I would have to answer a lot of questions about that line about Mum," she said, a little more quietly. "I still don't regret it. My mum was killed by Voldemort himself for writing and publishing that article in July, but the Ministry chalked it up to the work of the same Death Eaters from the Quidditch World Cup."

"I would say I'm sorry, but I know that it's not the right thing to say."

Lucy nodded. "Yeah. I understand. There's nothing you can say in response, because it's not like you can say it's okay. It's not okay she was murdered for speaking out. It's not okay Dad was murdered too just for being in the way, even though he didn't speak out. And Cedric... Merlin, don't even get me started on how..."

Professor McGonagall's head poked out of her office door. "I thought I heard you two. Why aren't you in class?"

"We've been sent to see you," Lucy replied mildly.

"Sent? What do you mean, sent?"

Lucy held out her note, and I did the same. Professor McGonagall scanned them, looking more and more grim as she read.

"Come in here, you two."

We followed her, the door closing behind us. We stood in front of her desk, waiting for whatever came next.

She spun around. "Well? Is this true?"

"Is what true, Professor?" I asked.

"Is it true that you both shouted at Professor Umbridge?"

Lucy and I answered in unison. "Yes."

"You called her a liar?"

"Yes."

"You told her He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back?"

"Yes."

Professor McGonagall lowered herself into her chair.

"Have a biscuit, you two."

"Have — what?" I asked disbelievingly.

"Have a biscuit, and sit down."

Lucy shook her head. "I'm not hungry, but thank you. Madam Pomfrey's potion doesn't seem to be doing me any favors yet. It must have dittany," she added quietly.

Professor McGonagall's face softened. "Right. Your allergy."

I took one and sat in the chair that had appeared behind me. Lucy sank down too, some of the fire in her eyes having given way to sadness. But I could still see a bit of anger, smoldering just below the surface. The bell rang for class, but neither of us moved.

"Look... Potter, Diggory, you need to be careful."

Lucy and I both looked up at her in surprise.

"Misbehavior in Dolores Umbridge's class could cost you much more than House points and a detention. I heard from your former professor Lupin that he's already spoken to you about the risks of speaking out, Lucy, and I know Arthur Weasley passed along Percy Weasley's advice. And as for you, Potter, you know where she comes from, you must know to whom she is reporting." Professor McGonagall studied the note. "It would seem the two of you have gotten off easy this time. She is only giving you detention for tonight, though it does not say how long it will last. Just the same, you two must remember to tread carefully around Dolores Umbridge."

"But, Professor, we're telling the truth! Voldemort's back, you know he is, Professor Dumbledore knows he is," I cut in.

"For heaven's sake, Potter, do you really think this is about truth or lies? It's about keeping your head down and your temper under control! Quite frankly, I'm surprised at the extent of your apparent temper, Lucy, but I suppose that is to be expected after what you had to endure this summer."

"Professor, my mother died for speaking out, and my father died even though he didn't," Lucy said quietly. "If it doesn't matter to Voldemort whether I speak out or not, why should I stay silent? I've gotten away once, haven't I?"

"This is exactly what Remus- Professor Lupin expressed concern over, Lucy. In other words, your lack of it." Professor McGonagall shook her head. "Didn't you listen to Dolores Umbridge's speech at the start-of-term feast?"

Lucy nodded. "I didn't like it one bit, but I did."

"Then you should understand by know that You-Know-Who is not the only one seeking control. And it would serve you well to do as so many have recommended and keep your head down, both of you."

Lucy and I didn't yell at any other teachers that day. I did get a bit short with Angelina Johnson at lunch when she got upset with me for not being able to attend Quidditch tryouts that night because of detention, but she was short with me first so I didn't let it weigh on my conscience.

The whispers were nearly unbearable at lunch, then again at dinner. Whispers, stares, pointing fingers, all directed at Lucy and me. She sat between the twins as always, but we exchanged meaningful looks throughout the day, neither of us looking forward to detention at five o'clock.

"I will say," she commented as we climbed the stairs to Umbridge's office, "I'm not terribly excited by the prospect of my first detention. But I still don't regret a single thing I said."

"Me neither," I replied. "Really? First detention?"

"Yeah. I always kept my head low because I knew my dad would bite my head off if I ever got detention, but he's not around to do that anymore, is he?"

"Lu-"

"It's fine, I don't need sympathy," she muttered, blushing a bit. "I don't know what made me say that."

"Well, if anyone would understand..." I said with a shrug. "D'you think we could play the pitiful orphan card to get out of detention to go watch tryouts?"

Lucy snorted. "Doubt it."

Umbridge greeted us at the door. "Mr. Potter, Miss Everlin, right on time. How wonderful to see you, dears."

Everlin? This nonsense again?

I felt Lucy stiffen beside me as we walked into the disturbingly pink and cat-filled room. I knew she wanted to punch this woman as desperately as I did, if not more.

Just the same, she tried to hide her anger. Her voice could not have been more different than it had been the last time she had spoken to Umbridge. It was as if she were trying to mock Umbridge and her falsely sweet tone. "Why of course, Professor Umbridge. What will you have us do?"

"Lines," she replied, gesturing toward the table in the middle of the room, already waiting with two pieces of paper. Lucy grabbed a quill from her pocket, but Umbridge's smile deepened. "Oh no, don't worry. You won't have need of that. I have my own quill."

"Oh. Alright." Lucy tucked her quill away.

"Who shall start?"

"I will," Lucy and I said in unison. I opened my mouth to say something else, but Umbridge interrupted.

"I have an idea." The gaze she fixed on Lucy made my skin crawl. "How about we have the bigger liar go first?"

"Me, then," I said.

"No, Mr. Potter. Not you."

"I don't think Lucy said anything false, according to you," I protested.

"How brave." Her words dripped with venom. "You stand up for her now, but if only you knew exactly what a liar Miss Everlin was."

"Diggory," Lucy said, but her voice trembled.

"Yes, that would be the name on the official report submitted to the Ministry after your illegal use of magic in August," Umbridge said. "However, I felt it appropriate to do further research into why a rogue group of Death Eaters would want to target your family-"

"They weren't a rogue group, they were organized and Voldemort himself was going to come if I hadn't decided to escape when I did-"

"The point being-" Umbridge spoke over her. "-I found in your father's file that you were adopted in 1985 following a magical attack on the Everlin family, of which you were presumed to be the only survivor. How lucky, really," Umbridge said in a voice that might have sounded gentle if not for the suspicious, goading, manipulative, infuriating undertones, "to be such a survivor. One might wonder what other secrets-"

"Alright, alright, just stop it!" Lucy cried, tears sparkling in her eyes. "You're right! You read through the contents of my dad's file and found the truth about me! I'll write the lines, I'll write the lines."

"On second thought, you two can write the lines simultaneously," Umbridge said with a small smirk of satisfaction.

Lucy released a shaky breath as she walked over to the chair on the left. I dropped into the chair on the right, still reeling from what had just taken place.

"Your line is 'I must not tell lies,' and that goes for both of you."

"How many times?" Lucy asked in a trembling voice.

"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in. Off you go."

"You haven't given us ink, Professor," I noticed, my brain still trying to catch up to the present moment.

Lucy? Everlin? Adopted? Voldemort? What?

"Oh, you won't need ink," she replied with a lofty laugh, snapping me back to reality.

I glanced out of the corner of my eye at Lucy, but she kept her eyes fixed on the parchment as she began to write. I followed suit, then immediately gasped in pain, the back of my left hand stinging.

The ink was red. A glance at my hand confirmed it was my blood.

I glanced at Umbridge in horror. She merely smiled at me. "Yes?"

"Nothing," I whispered, looking back down and glancing at Lucy's hand.

She had not yet drawn blood. But I could read the words in her skin, in her shaky handwriting.

My handwriting shook more and more as I wrote, too. After quite a while, Umbridge came over and decided I was done, that the message had been sufficiently engraved in my skin, that I had winced and grimaced enough times to have "learned my lesson."

"So she's done too," I said, jerking my chin at Lucy, my voice rough with the pain I was barely managing to shove aside.

"No, I don't think she is," Umbridge replied, taking Lucy's hand in her own, far more aggressively than I ever had. "She's barely written anything at all!"

"My hands, th-they shake, so I'm writing slowly," Lucy explained. Her eyes flashed as she looked up at Umbridge. "I can keep going, though, if you want me to. Harry can go, I'll stay."

"I'm not leaving you here alone," I said, shaking my head incredulously.

Lucy didn't acknowledge what I said. She kept her eyes on Umbridge's.

"Very well, you can keep going," Umbridge replied with a smile. "I don't think the lesson has really had a chance to sink in. You may stay or leave as you wish, Mr. Potter."

I remained firmly in the chair next to Lucy, having half a mind to smack the quill from her hand and drag her from the room and ask her if she really was adopted or if Umbridge had made it all up just to get a rise out of her. But I knew I'd get us in even more trouble if I did, so I sat next to Lucy, nursing my injured hand, watching helplessly as she carved the words into her own skin over and over and over again.

But I noticed that she never flinched, never grimaced, never winced. I had known Lucy had a high pain tolerance from all of the times I'd seen her beaten up in Quidditch matches, but it was... almost unnatural, watching her hand bleed more and more without the slightest hint of pain on her face.

After what felt like hours had passed, we were dismissed. Lucy followed me out of the office, but as soon as the door closed behind us, she sprinted past me in the direction of the common room.

"Lucy, wait!" I called as I chased her. "Lucy, please, stop!"

But she didn't. I pursued as fast as I could, but she was faster. She panted the password and leapt through the portrait hole as I reached the base of the stairs. I flew up after her, but by the time I got to the common room, she was gone. The Weasleys were the only ones left.

"Where'd she go?" I asked at the same time as the Weasleys all asked "What happened?" in unison.

I shook my head. "I don't know, but all I know is that I need to talk to her."

"Hermione followed her to the dormitory. Neither of them said a word. She was crying, and was her hand bleeding?"

I nodded, but before I could elaborate further, Hermione entered the common room again.

"She's gone," she panted. "I tried to stop her, but she opened the window, jumped on her broom, and took off."

"Well," Fred said slowly. "That girl's always had style. Let's go after her."

"It's past curfew!" Hermione replied, wringing her hands. "I'll go by myself. I'm a Prefect."

"I'm the one with the Invisibility Cloak," I snapped. "And the Marauder's Map. And I was there with her."

"She did run away from you," George pointed out.

"Only because... it's too much to explain, I'm going, and no one else is going with me."

I stormed up to my room and managed to get the map and the cloak without waking anyone.

I tossed the cloak over my head as I made my way back to the common room. I climbed through the portrait hole without another word.

"Lumos!" I hissed, opening the map. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The map came to life by the light of my wand. Lucy's name sped off toward the Quidditch Pitch. I tucked the map and my wand away, hurrying through the halls as quietly as possible. I struggled to find my way in the dark, but I eventually reached the Pitch. I shed the cloak as soon as I was in the stairwell and sprinted up to the commentary box. Lucy was racing back and forth across the field. Left to right to left to right.

"Lucy!" I called.

I knew she had heard me, because I hadn't been quiet, but she didn't stop. Back and forth. Left to right.

"Lucy, I'm not leaving!" I tossed the cloak onto the bench behind me, dropping the map and my wand, too. "I'll wait for you. As long as you need. But I'm not leaving."

That was what made her hesitate. Anyone else would have missed it, but I saw even in the pale moonlight the way her hands tightened around her broomstick and her head jerked slightly backwards.

I walked forward until my hands rested on the edge of the commentary box. I didn't say anything else, just watched her fly around.

She really was a natural on a broom. I'd been told I was, too, but Lucy was better than I would ever be. I was a good flyer; Lucy was effortless.

After about five minutes, Lucy slowed to a stop across the Pitch and turned so she was facing me. She didn't speak, didn't move. She just looked at me, the pale moonlight illuminating the tear tracks on her cheeks.

I watched her shoulders rise then fall as she took a deep breath. Then, she flew over.

"You shouldn't be out here, it's past curfew," she said, the words sounding empty.

"Lucy, I'm not going anywhere."

"Why not?" I had never seen Lucy look as vulnerable as she did in that moment. Her eyes were wild and afraid, the type of raw fear of an animal backed into a corner. "You saw me blow up at Umbridge earlier, you heard that Professor Lupin and now Professor McGonagall too think I'm a threat to myself, you... you must think I'm..." She shook her head, eyes filling with tears again. "Harry, if you stay, I might..."

"Might what?" I asked gently after a moment.

"Harry, if you stay, I might let myself believe you really aren't going anywhere. I might let myself believe you'll actually always be here, no matter what."

"Where else would I be?"

For a moment, time stood still.

The moonlight cast the world around us in a melancholy glow, but Lucy's eyes were all that mattered to me. I could see a war being waged just beneath the blue, then all at once, it stopped.

Lucy climbed into the commentary box and let her broom fall.

She staggered backward and collapsed onto the bench. Her head dropped into her hands.

"Harry, there's something you should know. Something I should have told you a long time ago. I've just... I've just been so afraid. And I still am, but I... I... I have to tell you now, I want to tell you, before... before..."

I sat down beside her and wrapped an arm around her trembling shoulders. I didn't say anything that would rush her, I didn't say anything to stop her. I just held her and waited.

Oh my dear, I'll wait for you 
Grace tonight will pull us through 
Until the tears have left your eyes 
Until the fears can sleep at night 
Until the demons that you're scared of disappear inside 
Until this guilt begins to crack 
And the weight falls from your back
Oh my dear, I'll keep you in my arms tonight

Finally, she twisted away so she was sitting cross-legged on the bench facing me. She sighed shakily.

"Harry... what she said was true. I am adopted. I was born Lucy Everlin. But she didn't have the whole truth." A tear slipped down her cheek, and she glanced out at the Pitch. "I didn't know until third year. My dad, or, well, Amos Diggory, had me obliviated so I wouldn't remember my first family. Cedric, too, to an extent, so he'd think I had always been there. You know how the dementors brought up your worst memory? The night your parents died?"

I nodded.

"Well... the dementors brought up my worst memory. You see, there are only two ways to overcome obliviated memories, both of which I understand now. The first is dementors. I saw bits and pieces of my worst memory with every dementor encounter. Then over summer, when I was tortured in the caves, I saw a couple more, since the Cruciatus Curse overcomes being obliviated too."

I felt as if I'd been punched in the gut. Lucy? Tortured? Why? But I didn't have time to dwell on it much longer, because she kept talking.

"My worst memory was... is... I don't know..." She shuddered. She glanced down, squeezed her eyes shut, then brought her eyes back to mine. "When I was five, my grandmother fell ill, very ill. My parents — the Everlins, not the Diggorys — brought my sister and me here, to the UK somewhere, to see her. Well, we were there when she died, which is how I can see thestrals, and you know, you'd think that would be the worst of it, but it wasn't." She stopped to take a breath, having said the last sentence in one quick burst. "There was an eclipse. October 28, 1985, from my research. And well, it was a full moon, and..."

She blinked, looking at me earnestly, silently begging me to understand so she didn't have to say it out loud.

I wish I had said something more intelligent. What I said was "Oh, Lucy."

She nodded, looking up at the moon, little more than a sliver in the sky. "The night I was bitten was my worst memory. I heard more and more of it every time, the same way you did, but it was confusing at first. My family's American, so the accents were confusing, and I was obviously in a great deal of pain at the time so it wasn't a terribly clear memory anyway, the way yours wasn't..." Lucy looked back at me. "That's why I'm sick every month, that's why I had to go home without you in August, that's why I'm... me. I'm sorry, Harry, I-"

"Stop," I said, unable to hold back anymore. I reached forward and pulled her into me in the tightest hug possible. "I understand, Lucy, it's okay, I don't hate you, I'm not mad at you, it's okay."

"You don't hate me?" she choked out. "You're not mad?"

"Lucy, of course not, of course not."

Relief surged through me first. She trusts me.

Then a wave of sorrow. She's... been through so much.

Then relief again. I can help now. Now that I know.

"I'm so glad I know," I said. She buried her head against the nape of my neck in response, and we remained that way for a long time.

Oh my dear, I'll wait for you 
Grace tonight will pull us through
Until the tears have left your eyes
Until the fears can sleep at night
Until the demons that you're scared of disappear inside
Until this guilt begins to crack
And the weight falls from your back
Oh my dear, I'll keep you in my arms tonight

"Oh My Dear"
Tenth Avenue North