Antlia was a girl held together by spiderwebs. Incredibly strong, but easily pulled apart by the right hand. She constantly felt like she was breaking into pieces, every time that she met her father, every time she met the Dark Lord, every time she saw death. The images of these occasions stained her mind, coming every time that she closed her eyes.

But she had to count what was good. She had to hold her happy memories, though few, close to her heart. Otherwise, she would be completely broken, if she wasn't already. The few good memories, though they didn't erase the bad, were things that she cherished. On the worst days, the ones where her father was screaming obscenities at her and brandishing his wand and she just wanted to fall apart, she could close her eyes and think back to the days where she had a few moments of happiness. Otherwise, she would become a shell of a person, like her mother had been, like so many before her had been. She couldn't stop fighting.

After her meeting with the Dark Lord, Antlia waited in the sitting room for hours until her father made his way slowly toward her. He was angry, his face set into a scowl, and it chilled her. Chilled her to the bone. When he got like this, things got messy. The last time, well, she didn't like to think about the last time.

"Antlia." His voice was low, gravelly, and powerful. It was full of anger, anger at her, anger at the world, anger that unjustly pressed its weight onto his daughter. "Do we need to have a talk?"

Antlia took a steadying breath. She hated how her father had the ability to make her fall apart with pain in one sentence. She hated the power that he held over her. "No, Father. The Dark Lord wishes that I keep my dealings with him private. You know how he is," she said. Her words were bait, ones that she was hoping that he would bite, just as the Dark Lord had. She was preying on his sense of loyalty.

Her father nodded, his face stony but the conflict was present in his eyes. She knew what he was feeling. The feeling of being pulled in two separate directions was something that she felt every morning when she woke up. She felt it in every decision that she made. She felt it and watched it drive cracks into her like everything else did.

"Very well," he said, turning away from her and towards the empty wall. The wallpaper was garish, colors clashing and hurting Antlia's eyes. "To the house," he directed Antlia, instructing her on where to Apparate.

The air was thick, Antlia heaving in shuddering breaths as she tried to disguise what she felt. She felt relief, that her father hadn't pressed her. It moved through her body like liquid, relaxing her muscles and slacking her jaw. But there was still the underlying current of fear, the one that never allowed her to fully relax. It was always there.

They apparated back to the Avery house, and the two parted ways. Antlia went back to her room, and her father went to his study. Antlia let herself loose and her father wound himself tighter.

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"Father, I'm going to Diagon Alley with Nova," Antlia called out to the house as she emerged from her room. She was dressed in green, as she almost always was, and her hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck into a low bun. She looked put together, classy, as her father always pushed onto her that she must, even if she was only going out for a casual outing. "We are going to do some last-minute Christmas shopping."

Teely's gentle voice answered instead of her father's rough one. "Antlia, he's not here. He went to the Black manor." The House Elf stood at the bottom of the stairs, a smile on her face. "When he comes back, I'll let him know where you've gone."

"Thanks, Teely!" Antlia's words were bright, much unlike how she had been the previous night. It was a testament to the life that she lived that she was more comfortable with Teely than with her own father.

Antlia stepped into the fireplace, speaking clearly as the flames rose around her, and then stepped gracefully out of the other end. She had come out in a private alleyway near Ollivander's. Nova was not meeting her there, and she was most definitely not going last-minute holiday shopping. Nova was in Diagon Alley, that was true, but she was wandering around with Regulus.

Antlia brushed off a speck of dust from her cloak and set off, walking briskly in the chilly air. Her breath came in puffy clouds, the tip of her nose turning slightly red. Her steps were purposeful even as she had no idea where she wanted to go. She knew what she wanted to do, but she didn't know how to accomplish it. The trick to convincing others, and yourself, that you knew what you were doing, was to act like you did. And Antlia was a master at hiding her true intentions.

She walked through the streets of Diagon Alley, her gaze sharp. It cut through the crowds of people, disregarding displays of magic that would have been breathtaking to anyone else. She only had one goal in mind. Find Albus Dumbledore.

Antlia had written him a letter the previous night, under the pretense of writing to Lyra, and she could only pray that her owl had made it to him. She had told him not to write back, not to meet her in any one spot, only to be in Diagon Alley. She had to work in secrecy, keeping up the guise of perfect little Pureblood.

Her gaze narrowed when she saw a silvery head of hair duck into an alleyway. She followed it, rounding the corner to come face to face with the Headmaster. His expression had the unique ability to be grave and have a twinkle of humor at the same time. It irked her, her sensitivity ramped up to the max. She was on edge, more than usual.

"Ms. Avery." Professor Dumbledore nodded at her. It was quiet in the alley, a contrast to the rushing in her mind. Trash littered the ground, and Antlia nudged a piece out of her way with one delicate shoe. "As much as I would like this to be a social call, I'm assuming that this is not one?" It was a question, giving her the chance to say no, to hide away again.

Antlia confirmed with her own nod. "Professor, I don't have much time, so I'm going to have to be brief." She glanced over her shoulder, worry working its way through her body. Worry was held in the grooves on her hands. Worry was present in the tight set of her shoulders. Worry was contained in the twist of her mouth. Worry was evident in the hard line of her eyebrows. Worry was in her whole body, in her mind, in her soul. There was no escaping it.

Dumbledore cast a charm on the two, the feeling slinking down their spines. It made them invisible to the eyes of others and masked their sounds. It wasn't foolproof, but the average nosy person wouldn't be able to tell. It did nothing to ease her worry.

Antlia yanked the sleeve of her dress up to reveal her bare arm. "As you can see, I'm not a Death Eater, yet, and that's only because I managed to convince the Dark Lord to not make me one." She told Dumbledore about her talk with the Dark Lord, words falling out of her like a waterfall. She released the secret that had been eating her alive, from the inside out, to the one man that she thought might be able to do something. She let herself tell someone, and the action terrified her.

"Ms. Avery, this is quite a lot," Dumbledore said calmly. He is looking at her over those half-moon spectacles and she wants to scream. Scream until she breaks through the charm. Scream until she can't force any more air through her lungs. How could he be so calm? Her life was falling apart and he was calm.

Antlia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Professor Dumbledore, don't you think that I know that?" They weren't at school, he had no authority over her here. But she wanted his help. Her next question was the one that she had taken all of this risk to ask. Her life depended on the answer. "Can you help me?"

"Ms. Avery," Dumbledore began. Why did he keep calling her that? Antlia hated her last name, the weight that came with it. She hoped to one day to be rid of it, a distant hope. But she knew that it would tag along with her for the rest of her life.

Dumbledore gave her a chance, gave her a way out, gave her a way to keep her head above water. A coin, like the one the Dark Lord had given her. It felt bittersweet, the escape that it gave.

And then Antlia was pulled in two directions. She was straddling the line between good and evil, the divide that seemed to separate those who lived and those who died. And she couldn't tell who was going to win in the end.

Author's Note

Me? Updating twice in the same month? Who is this? I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you so much for reading!

- Nicole