"She had something to confess to

But you don't have the time so

Look the other way

You will wait until it's over

To reveal what you'd never shown her

Too little much too late "

-"Muscle Museum", Muse

Showbiz

Chapter One

Ophelia knew she would never be the same after she lost the baby- there was no denying that. When she walked, the sound of her feet against the floor was hollow and echoing. When she talked, her voice sounded defeated and hoarse. When she looked out the window at the melting snow that surrounded Hogwarts, she felt cold and numb. But she endured.

"You're becoming quite the healer," her mother commented, as Ophelia cleaned a student's wound. The hospital wing was practically brimming with children everyday. Ophelia's mother wouldn't tell her why the students were in such condition, but Ophelia had a suspicion that something about the discipline at Hogwarts was different.

"I only wish…," the matron's voice quivered, "that you could get better training. I know you don't want to hear this, but-," Ophelia shut her eyes, knowing what her mother was about to say.

"-I think it would be good for you to take that internship at Saint Mungo's."

Ophelia stood, and grabbed the bandages off the table by her patient's bed. Luckily the first year was fast asleep- with the help of a sleeping drought she'd made earlier. She dressed his wound, and looked up at her mother. Maybe a few months ago, her glare would have a sharp edge to it, but she was too exhausted for that now.

"You know my answer," she muttered, and stood. She collected her items and moved onto the next bed.

The next patient was awake- it was Neville Longbottom. He had a black eye and a large bruise on his cheek.

Ophelia tutted, and inspected his injuries with a careful eye. Poppy Pomfrey followed Ophelia to the second bed, her face still puckered with a look of determination.

"But I've taught you all I know, and you have so much potential!"

Neville seemed distracted- he didn't even look at Ophelia. She poured him a glass of sleeping drought and softly encouraged him to drink it. There wasn't much she could do for him, except allow him to drift into a safer world where no harm could reach him.

Ophelia stood once again, this time brushing her hands against her matron gown and sighing.

"There's a war going on. I can't think about my future at a time like this. Besides, I feel…I feel like I need to stay here. It's the least I can do…," Ophelia trailed off.

"I know that you're feeling guilty because you left the others, and I know that you're also feeling…a little stunned, after everything's that happened. But I just want what's best for you."

Ophelia shook her head firmly, pursing her lips.

"No," she whispered, "you don't know what I feel. You could never."

She turned back to Neville, who hadn't drunk his sleep drought. She pulled up a stool and sat by his bed.

Poppy Pomfrey knew a lost cause when she saw one, and slunk back into her office.

"Neville," Ophelia cooed, "what's happened to you? You can tell me?"

"No," Neville shook his head, "I can't."

"Is a teacher doing this to you?" Ophelia demanded. She could only imagine, "The Carrows?"

She'd heard many things about the Carrows. But within the safe haven of the hospital wing, she'd never encounter them. Them or anyone else that she wished to avoid…

"It's none of your business," Neville snapped, acting very unlike himself.

"Yes it is," Ophelia disagreed, "I'm a part of this battle too. And I care about the well being of the students."

"Then tell me what Harry's doing right now," Neville finally turned to face Ophelia, tears building in his stubborn eyes, "Why haven't we heard from him? You were with him, weren't you?"

"Y-yes I was," Ophelia blinked, "but it's been a long time since I've seen them. Harry could be anywhere."

It had been a long time. Today was March 9th- two months since Ophelia had turned twenty years old, and two months too long spent at Hogwarts, away from those who mattered most to her.

Neville's bruised face fell, and Ophelia knew she couldn't let him lose hope.

"It's not that simple, Neville. Dumbledore left Harry with a task, and it's very complex. Even with Hermione at his side, we can't know when he'll succeed. But I can promise you that he will. Harry is a brave man, and he knows what's at stake. Don't give up the fight."

Ophelia grabbed hold of Neville' hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Don't ever give up the fight."

It had been nearly two months since Severus Snape had sent his patronus to give Harry Potter the Sword of Gryffindor.

Now he sat in Dumbledore's office, looking around him at the portraits of great wizards before him. Never to be a humble man, Snape was surprised at how incompetent he felt in Albus Dumbledore's chair. He felt like a foolish child, wearing his father's baggy clothing.

Snape never spoke to the portraits- least of all to the Dumbledore himself. They intimidated him, and he liked to be alone. That's why hated this office so much- eyes were constantly on him, watching his every mistake. They all knew he was a fraud.

When Snape met with the Carrows- or any of the other staff or death eaters of the school, he met with them outside of his office. It didn't seem right- bringing his lies and deceit into Dumbledore's office. And he didn't want anyone else to see him, sitting woefully in his chair.

All he had with him on his desk was a few stacks of papers, a half-empty jar of blackberry jam, and his copy of Pride and Prejudice, which he hadn't opened since his last encounter with Ophelia.

He tried to repress all thoughts of her. He repressed his questions too. Where had she been all this time? Why had she suddenly returned to the school? Was she okay? Would she be okay? Would she ever speak to him again…?

He bit his lip and closed his eyes. If he didn't see his troubles, maybe they'd disappear completely.

When that failed to work, as Snape's mind was seized by worry, he stood up, inching out of his tainted throne. Perhaps a walk would do him some good.

It was about an hour later, when Ophelia decided that she could standby idly by no longer. Her mother was tending to a patient, when Ophelia marched into the office where she slept. She grabbed a rucksack, filled it with her clothes and tossed it over her shoulder. She also changed into civilian clothes- a baggy sweater which had fit her when she'd been pregnant, and jeans.

She slunk out of the hospital wing through the back door, with one last glance around her. The sight of the injured children played with her heart strings, and she knew that she may never see her mother again. But she closed the door tightly and nodded to herself. She was making the right choice.

She walked down to the Headmaster's office. It felt wrong to think of it as Snape's office. He'd stolen it.

She stood in front of the entrance and took a deep breath. She knew what she needed to do, but it wouldn't be easy. What if Snape was in there? She couldn't bare to see him again. Besides, she didn't know the password. It was unlikely that it was still lemon sherbet.

Ophelia didn't see Minerva McGonagall approach her, so she jumped when the older woman spoke.

"He's not in," she said, her voice cutting through the air.

Ophelia's mouth fell open in surprise. Ophelia's former Transfiguration teacher hadn't seen her in months, and that was all she had to say to her? Especially after the rumours that had been circulating around the school about Ophelia's sudden appearance and pregnancy.

"He's at a meeting with the Carrows. I'd say you could go in and wait for him, but no one knows his password," McGonagall looked as though she might say something else, but instead she walked off, leaving Ophelia feeling hopeless.

She was so close to escaping. Snape's office was empty, but she need the password. She strained her brain, thinking hard of what it could be. Then it came to her.

She cleared her throat.

"Blackberry jam," she enunciated.

She almost smiled- something she hadn't done in a long time- when the spiral staircase revealed itself to her. Some things hadn't changed it seemed.

She marched up the stairs, and barely gave herself time to look around the office. She didn't want to see what the lair of the beast looked like.

"Phineas Nigellus," she called, looking around. She had forgotten where the portrait was.

A groan came from behind her, and Ophelia spun around.

"What is it?" the grumpy ex-Headmaster snapped.

"It's me again," Ophelia whispered, approaching the painting closer.

"Ophelia Pomfrey, is it?" Nigellus had remembered her this time, "not so pregnant anymore, are you?"

"No I'm not," Ophelia snapped, "that's kind of how that works. Now will you do something for me, or not?"

"Alright, alright," the portrait was flustered, "at least be polite about it."

"Where are they?" Ophelia demanded.

"I don't know what you're talk-,"

"Yes you do," Ophelia insisted, dropping her voice down to a quiet hiss, "where are Harry and Hermione?"

"Oh, those buffoons? The three of them are camping out in some field, nasty place in my opinion. If you ask me-"

"The three of them!" Ophelia's heart skipped a beat, "so Ron did come back! Alright well tell me exactly where they are, and do it quickly!"

Ophelia landed on the smooth surface of a grass field, as she tripped and fell. She was usually a graceful apparater, but today she was in a hurry. The tent was in her view- she was so close.

"Wait a minute," she whispered to herself. She could see the tent. That wasn't supposed to happen. What was going on? It was unlikely that Hermione had forgotten to cast the protective spells.

No…something larger was at work here.

That was when Ophelia felt someone breath on the back of her neck, and she turned around.

"Hello beautiful."

Ophelia screamed.

A/N: Hey guys! Welcome to the third instalment in the series! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. PLEASE review- PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! I need reviews to live haha. Anyway, new chapter up probably next week. Have a lovely holiday or winter break.