Plain Sight

Thalia had barely remembered to grab her cloak from the hook by the front door. The biting wind that rushed through the open doorway served as a sharp reminder that it was December, and a winter storm was brewing. Snowflakes swirled in the air like tiny shards of glass, stinging her cheeks and tugging at her hair as she stepped outside. The heavy wool of her cloak provided some relief, but it wasn’t enough to shield her entirely from the chill that seemed to seep into her bones. Tightening her collar around her neck, she pulled at the fabric so that it brushed her cheeks and pushed forward. 

Her thin house shoes were a mistake. She hadn’t thought to change in her haste, and now the fluffy interior of the slippers did little to protect her from the icy wetness of the grey, slushy snow. Each step sent a fresh wave of cold through her feet, making her shiver more violently as she trudged along the dark path.

The castle loomed ahead, its silhouette jagged and imposing against the stormy sky. Halfway there, Thalia’s steps faltered as a realisation struck her—she didn’t have a plan. What was she going to do? She couldn’t just barge into the Gryffindor Common Room, shouting about an attack on one of the Weasleys. The thought of it made her stomach twist uncomfortably. She had kept her family situation a tightly guarded secret at school, unwilling to let anyone in. Her family’s name carried weight, and not the good kind.

The idea of explaining it all—of letting them see the mess she came from—made her chest tighten. Would her friends treat her differently? Would they see her as the Slytherin she was supposed to be? The thought stung more than the cold.

But there was no time for doubt. She pressed forward, each step heavier than the last as the snowstorm began to rage around her. 

Picking up her pace, Thalia rushed through the deserted streets of Hogsmeade. The village, usually so lively and bustling with chatter, felt eerily still. Snow blanketed the cobblestones, muffling her hurried footsteps and swallowing the sound of the wind. The only sign of life was a lone candle flickering in the window of The Three Broomsticks. Through the frost-covered glass, she caught a glimpse of Madame Rosmerta moving about, likely tidying up after her evening patrons. The warm, golden light spilling from the tavern was a stark contrast to the icy darkness outside, and for a moment, Thalia felt a pang of longing to step inside and feel the heat of the fire.

But there was no time for that. The snow was falling thicker now, swirling in puffy white clouds that clung to her hair and eyelashes. It coated the ground in an unbroken expanse of white, save for the trail of footprints she was leaving behind. Glancing back, Thalia cursed under her breath. The tracks would be obvious to anyone who cared to follow, but there was no helping it now.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she pushed forward, the cold biting at her exposed skin and her lungs burning with each sharp breath. She couldn’t let fear slow her down—not when her courage had carried her this far. The Weasley twins’ faces flashed in her mind, their mischievous grins and easy laughter. She clenched her fists tighter inside her cloak, determination hardening her resolve. She wouldn’t be able to look them in the eye if she failed to get help.

Pushing herself harder as her feet crunched onto the gravel driveway of the school, Thalia broke into a sprint. The towering silhouette of the castle loomed closer with every stride, it's dark windows reflecting the faintly glowing moonlight and the swirling snowstorm. Her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, visible in the icy air like plumes of smoke. By the time she reached the grand oak front doors, her legs burned, and her fingers were stiff from the cold.

She gently pushed the doors open, the heavy wood creaking slightly on its hinges. Thalia froze, her heart hammering in her chest, and strained her ears for any sound of movement. When nothing stirred, she slipped inside and carefully closed the door behind her, the muffled thud echoing faintly through the cavernous entrance hall.

Pausing for a moment, she leaned against the cold stone wall, willing herself to regain her composure. She wiped a trembling hand across her face, brushing away melting snowflakes and calming her breathing. The shadowy entrance hall stretched before her, its familiar grandeur shrouded in an eerie stillness. The flickering torches cast long, shifting shadows across the ancient stone walls, making the space feel both familiar and foreboding.

Steeling herself, Thalia began creeping up the staircase, her footsteps light on the worn steps. Every hushed footstep and scuff sent a jolt of panic through her, and she prayed silently to Merlin that she wouldn’t run into Filch or, worse, Professor Umbridge on one of her insufferable nightly patrols.

The corridors were deserted, the usual hum of castle life replaced by an unsettling silence. Thalia kept her wand in hand, her knuckles white as she moved swiftly but cautiously, her eyes darting to every shadow and alcove. The portraits on the walls were mostly asleep, their snores mingling with the faint rustle of the wind seeping through the old stone.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. She had made it this far. All she needed now was to find someone who would listen—and believe her.

On the second floor, Thalia froze, her breath catching in her throat. The faint glow of wand light spilled into the corridor ahead, accompanied by the low murmur of voices. She couldn’t make out the words at first, but the tone of the conversation sent a prickle of unease through her.

Gripping her wand tighter, she crept silently closer, her footsteps barely making a sound against the cold stone floor. A bead of cold sweat trickled down her spine, the sensation sending a shiver through her as she pressed herself against the wall, just out of sight.

"...I can assure you, Dolores, I heard the same commotion you did coming from Gryffindor Tower," came Professor McGonagall’s unmistakable voice, sharp with irritation. "As is my duty as Head of House, I headed there immediately. Peeves had seen it fit to possess one of the suits of armor, using it to slide down a greased hallway. As you can imagine, I was not best impressed and have dealt with the situation accordingly."

Thalia exhaled slowly, relief washing over her at the sound of McGonagall’s calm authority. But her relief was short-lived as Professor Umbridge’s high-pitched, syrupy drawl cut through the air like nails on a chalkboard.

"I was certain I heard students out of bed, though, Minerva," Umbridge replied, her tone laced with its usual sickly sweetness. "I assume you have checked all surrounding areas for truant students?"

Thalia’s stomach twisted. She shrank back against the wall, her heart pounding in her ears.

"I know the student code of conduct as well as you, Dolores," McGonagall snapped, her clipped tone betraying her impatience. "Any student caught out of bed will receive a punishment that is on par with their wrongdoing, I assure you."

Thalia bit her lip, torn between the desire to stay hidden and the desperate need to step forward and confide in McGonagall. The Head of Gryffindor House might help her, but with Umbridge standing there, it was too great a risk.

"Well, Minerva," Umbridge began, her saccharine tone barely masking her condescension, "if you believe you have dealt with the situation to the best of your abilities, you won’t mind me having a look around the corridors surrounding Gryffindor Tower? Just to check, of course, dear."

"You don’t trust me, Dolores?" McGonagall’s voice was cold now, her irritation barely concealed.

"Of course I do," Umbridge replied, her smile practically audible in her voice, "but two pairs of eyes are often better than one. I’ll head there now and let you know of my discoveries in the morning."

"If you believe that is necessary," McGonagall said crisply, "I, however, shall retire to bed."

Thalia barely had time to react before the sharp, deliberate sound of Umbridge’s heels began clicking against the stone floor. The noise echoed ominously in the quiet corridor, growing louder with every step.

Panic surged through Thalia as she pressed herself further into the shadows behind a pillar, her heart thundering in her chest. She held her breath, her wand clutched so tightly in her hand that her knuckles ached.

The faint light from Umbridge’s wand crept closer, illuminating the edges of the corridor. Thalia could see it reflecting off the polished stone floor, inching nearer and nearer. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, willing herself to stay calm. The shadows around her felt impossibly thin, and she prayed that the darkness would be enough to conceal her.

The footsteps slowed, and Thalia’s pulse quickened. Was Umbridge stopping? Had she spotted something?

Thalia dared to open her eyes a fraction, just in time to see the faint glow of wandlight sweep across the corridor, lingering dangerously close to her hiding spot. She bit her lip, stifling a gasp as the light hovered, casting faint shadows across her shoes.

"Goodnight, Minerva," Umbridge’s voice called, sing-song and grating.

"Goodnight, Dolores," McGonagall replied, her tone curt and dismissive.

The light moved on, and the sound of heels clicking against the floor grew fainter as Umbridge turned a corner. Thalia exhaled slowly, her chest heaving with the effort of staying silent. She waited a few moments longer, her ears straining for any sign of Umbridge’s return, before daring to move.

Stepping out from the shadows and into the flickering candlelight, Thalia froze as she came face-to-face with a stern-faced Professor McGonagall. The older witch’s piercing gaze was fixed on her, one eyebrow arched in that unmistakable expression of silent inquiry.

Thalia’s hand flew to her mouth, muffling the startled gasp that threatened to escape. Her heart leapt into her throat, and for a moment, she was certain her legs would give out beneath her. She came to an abrupt halt, standing awkwardly in front of the professor, her chest still heaving from the adrenaline of her near escape.

Professor McGonagall’s sharp eyes swept over her, taking in every detail of her disheveled appearance. Thalia could only imagine how she looked—her hair a tangled mess, her cheeks flushed from the cold, and her thin slippers squelching softly against the stone floor as melted snow dripped from them.

"Miss Winterbourne," McGonagall said at last, her tone measured but not unkind, "I wasn’t even aware you were staying in the castle this evening." She adjusted her tartan shawl, her gaze softening ever so slightly as she continued, "But by the looks of you, there must be a very good reason for you to be wandering the corridors at this hour?"

Thalia opened her mouth to respond, but her voice caught in her throat. She swallowed hard, her mind racing to form an explanation. The warmth in McGonagall’s tone was unexpected, and it gave her a flicker of courage.

"I—I needed to find you, Professor," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "It’s the Weasleys. Something’s wrong. I think they’re in danger."

McGonagall’s expression shifted, her sternness giving way to concern. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "The Weasleys? How did you know? What do you mean, Miss Winterbourne? Start from the beginning."

Thalia hesitated, glancing nervously over her shoulder, half-expecting Umbridge to reappear at any moment. "I—I heard something," she began, her words tumbling out in a rush. "At home. People Apparating, voices… I think someone’s after them. I didn’t know what else to do, so I came here."

McGonagall’s lips pressed into a thin line, her sharp mind clearly working through Thalia’s words. After a moment, she nodded briskly. "Come with me," she said, her tone brooking no argument. "We’ll sort this out."

Relief flooded through Thalia, but it was tempered by the weight of her worry. She followed McGonagall, her sopping slippers leaving faint wet prints on the stone floor as they disappeared into the darkened corridors.

The pair came to a halt in front of a stone gargoyle, its weathered features illuminated by the faint glow of the torches lining the corridor. Professor McGonagall glanced sharply to her left, then to her right, as though ensuring they were not being followed, before leaning closer to the statue.

"Sherbert Lemon," she muttered under her breath, the words barely audible.

Thalia blinked in surprise as the gargoyle shifted, revealing a revolving spiral staircase that began ascending on its own.

"Professor," she asked hesitantly, looking up at the imposing woman, "where are we going?"

McGonagall turned to her, her expression unreadable but her voice softening slightly. "From the looks of you, Miss Winterbourne, I don’t think I’ll be able to help you by myself."

Thalia swallowed hard, her nerves prickling as she stepped onto the staircase beside McGonagall. The motion was smooth but disorienting, the walls of the passage spiraling around them as they rose higher and higher. When they came to a stop, they were greeted by a tall wooden door, its surface carved with intricate patterns.

From behind the door came the muffled sound of voices, one in particular harsh and hurried. Thalia instinctively shifted closer to McGonagall, partially hiding behind the taller woman. Her heart raced, and her palms felt clammy against the folds of her cloak.

McGonagall rapped on the door once before pushing it open, revealing the circular office of Professor Dumbledore. The room was dimly lit, the fire in the hearth casting long, flickering shadows across the polished wood and shelves crammed with strange trinkets.

Dumbledore stood with his back to his desk, speaking in low, urgent tones to a portrait behind it. His silver beard caught the firelight, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. At the sound of the door opening, he turned, his piercing blue eyes landing on the newcomers.

But it wasn’t Dumbledore who captured Thalia’s attention—it was the group huddled near the fireplace. The Weasley siblings stood together, their pale faces drawn tight with worry, their eyes wide and unblinking. Ron was clutching Ginny’s hand so tightly his knuckles were white, while Fred and George hovered protectively beside them.

In the high-backed chair nearest the fire sat Harry, his disheveled appearance a stark contrast to his usual confidence. He was trembling visibly, his face pale and clammy with a sheen of sweat.

As Thalia and McGonagall entered the room, every head turned toward them.

"Lia," George breathed, breaking away from the group and striding toward her. His face was etched with concern as he pulled her into a tight embrace, burying his face in her hair. "What are you doing here?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Thalia didn’t answer. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him as tightly as he held her. "Are you okay?" she murmured, her voice trembling as she ignored his question entirely.

George shook his head slightly, his grip on her tightening. "Dad," he managed to choke out, his voice cracking as the single word hung heavy in the air.

Thalia’s breath caught, and she nodded silently, her throat too tight to form words. She didn’t need him to say more—she could feel the weight of his fear, his pain, in the way he clung to her.

Behind them, McGonagall cleared her throat softly, her gaze darting between Dumbledore and the Weasley children. "Headmaster," she said, her voice steady but low, “Miss Winterbourne here…”

Thalia stepped back from George’s embrace, her gaze shifting urgently to the Headmaster. Her heart was pounding, and the words tumbled out before she could think twice. "Professor McGonagall found me wandering around the second floor," she began, her voice shaking slightly. "I’d heard there was a ruckus from the Fat Friar… something involving the Weasleys. I just wanted to check on them, Sir."

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow at Thalia, her expression unreadable. There was a flicker of something in her gaze—perhaps curiosity, perhaps suspicion—but she quickly turned her attention to Dumbledore.

"It appears," McGonagall began, her tone measured and calm, "that Miss Winterbourne is a great friend to all of the Weasleys and Mr. Potter." She folded her arms, her tartan shawl shifting slightly with the motion. "Given the circumstances, I thought it would be appropriate for her to come and offer comfort while we await news."

Her words were smooth, almost too smooth, and Thalia caught the pointed look McGonagall threw her way as she finished speaking. It was a look that spoke volumes: We will be discussing this later.

Dumbledore, however, seemed unperturbed. His piercing blue eyes rested on Thalia for a moment, as if he were peering straight into her soul. Then he nodded, his expression softening into one of quiet understanding.

"Very well," he said, his voice as calm and steady as ever. "In times of distress, it is often the presence of friends that brings the greatest comfort." He gestured gently toward the group by the fireplace. "Please, Miss Winterbourne, make yourself at home."

Thalia hesitated, glancing back at McGonagall, who gave her a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Taking a deep breath, she stepped closer to the Weasleys and Harry, her heart heavy with worry.

George reached for her hand as she approached, his grip firm and grounding. "Lia," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire.

Fred, standing beside him, managed a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "You’ve got impeccable timing, you know that?" he said, though his usual humor was absent.

Thalia offered a small, tentative smile in return, but her gaze was drawn to Harry. He still sat slumped in the chair, his face pale and his breathing shallow. Ginny knelt beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm, her wide eyes filled with concern.

"What happened?" Thalia asked softly, her voice trembling as she looked from George to Fred and then to the others.

George hesitated, his jaw tightening as he exchanged a glance with Fred. It was Ron who finally spoke, his voice low and shaky.

"Dad’s been attacked," he said, his words like a punch to the gut. "By a snake. In the Ministry. Harry saw the whole thing in a dream."

Thalia’s breath caught, her chest tightening as the weight of the revelation settled over her. She tightened her grip on George’s hand, her other hand instinctively reaching out to Ginny, who looked on the verge of tears.

"We don’t know much else yet," Fred added quietly, his voice uncharacteristically subdued.

Dumbledore stepped forward then, his presence commanding yet comforting. "We are doing all we can to ensure Mr. Weasley’s safety," he said, his tone reassuring but firm. "For now, it is important that you all remain here, together."

The room fell silent, save for the crackling of the fire and the faint sound of Harry’s labored breathing. Thalia squeezed George’s hand, her resolve hardening. Whatever was happening, she wasn’t going to leave their side. Not now. Not ever.

The group sat in tense silence, the weight of worry and exhaustion settling over them like a thick blanket. Time dragged on, each second feeling like an eternity. At some point, George had gently guided Thalia to the other chair, never letting go of her hand. She sank into the seat, her body heavy with the strain of the night, but George remained standing beside her, his hand warm and steady in hers. His gaze was fixed on the fire, the flickering flames casting shadows across his face, but his grip on her hand tightened every so often, as if to remind himself she was there.

Ginny had shuffled over at some point, curling up at Thalia’s side and laying her head on the older girl’s shoulder. Thalia instinctively wrapped an arm around her, holding her close as she played with the end of the girl's long auburn hair. Every so often, she glanced down at Ginny, expecting to find her asleep. But no matter how heavy the younger girl’s eyes grew, she never succumbed to slumber. Her wide, anxious gaze remained fixed on the fire, as though willing it to provide some sort of answer.

The occasional crackle of the flames and the faint rustle of movement from Harry were the only sounds in the room. Dumbledore and McGonagall stood a short distance away, their voices low and urgent as they discussed matters Thalia couldn’t quite hear.

Suddenly, a rustling sound came from behind Dumbledore’s desk. All eyes turned toward the source, and the two professors straightened, their conversation halted mid-sentence.

The sound grew louder, and then the figure of a stern-looking man appeared in the portrait behind the desk. His dark robes and sharp features gave him an imposing presence, and his expression was serious as he addressed the Headmaster.

"Mr. Black will happily accept the children at Grimmauld Place," the man announced, his tone clipped and formal. His eyes swept over the small group huddled by the fire. "Until their mother can make arrangements."

Thalia felt Ginny stiffen against her side, and she tightened her hold on the younger girl. George’s grip on her hand grew firmer, and she glanced up at him, seeing the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

"Grimmauld Place?" Fred asked, his voice low but tense. "What about Dad? We can’t just leave him."

The man in the portrait looked at Fred with a mixture of sympathy and impatience. "Your father’s care is being seen to. He is in good hands at St. Mungo’s. But it is no longer safe for you to remain here."

Dumbledore stepped forward, his calm voice cutting through the tension. "The arrangements are temporary, but necessary," he said gently. "Your safety is paramount. Once we have more information, you will be reunited with your parents."

Ginny’s grip on Thalia’s arm tightened, and Thalia could feel the younger girl trembling. "But we’re not leaving now, are we?" Ginny asked, her voice small and frightened.

"There is uncertainty in the castle," Dumbledore began, his calm voice carrying a weight of authority and reassurance. "It is my belief that you are all safer for the moment with your family. I am sure that once your mother has ensured your father's care, she will join you in London."

Thalia felt the tension in the room thicken, the reality of their situation sinking in for everyone. She tightened her grip on George’s hand and gave Ginny’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Don’t worry," she said softly, trying to infuse her voice with confidence. "I can make sure that all of your belongings reach you safely."

Ginny looked up at her, her wide, watery eyes filled with uncertainty. "Can’t you just come with us?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Thalia’s heart ached at the question, but she forced herself to smile, brushing a strand of Ginny’s fiery hair back from her face. "You’ve got three older brothers here, Gin," she said gently, her voice steady despite the knot in her chest. "All of them are more than willing and able to look after you. You’re in safe hands."

Ginny didn’t look entirely convinced, but she nodded reluctantly, leaning back into Thalia’s side for a moment.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him. "Unfortunately, we haven’t got long," he said, his tone brisk but not unkind. "It is my belief that the Floo Network is being watched, and because none of you are me—although," he added with a faint twinkle in his eye, "you gentlemen did grow exceptional beards last year—"

Fred and George exchanged a fleeting glance, their lips twitching at the memory, though the humor was fleeting.

"You cannot apparate out of here," Dumbledore continued. "Therefore, we are left with one mode of transportation—a Portkey."

The group exchanged uncertain looks.

"A Portkey?" Ron asked, his voice laced with apprehension.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied. "It is the safest and most discreet option available to us. Professor McGonagall and I will see to it that you reach your destination without delay."

Thalia glanced at the Weasleys and Harry, her heart heavy with worry for them. "You’ll be okay," she said softly, her voice filled with quiet determination. "You’re all together, and that’s what matters."

George looked down at her, his hand still firmly clasped in hers. "You’ll look after yourself, yeah?" he said quietly, his eyes searching hers.

Thalia nodded, her resolve firm. "Always."

Dumbledore stepped forward, holding up what looked like an old, blackened kettle. "Gather round," he instructed. "Everyone must be touching the Portkey when it activates."

The group moved hesitantly toward the Headmaster, their expressions a mixture of apprehension and resolve. As they placed their hands on the kettle, Thalia stepped back, her heart aching as she watched them prepare to leave.

"Take care of each other," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

George gave her hand one last squeeze before letting go, his gaze lingering on her as the Portkey began to glow with a faint blue light.

And then, in a flash, they were gone.

Thalia stood frozen, her eyes fixed on the empty space where the Weasleys and Harry had disappeared. A heavy sense of dread coated her, pressing down on her shoulders, but a faint flicker of relief lightened her heart. They were safe now, far from the danger she feared would only grow.

The crackle of the fire brought her back to the present, but it was the unmistakable feeling of being watched that made her turn. To her right, Professor Dumbledore stood quietly, his piercing blue eyes twinkling in the firelight. His expression was calm, but there was a weight behind his gaze that made her stomach twist.

"Miss Winterbourne," Dumbledore began, his voice gentle but firm, "I have assumed that the reason you are at the castle so late is not to walk the corridors. Professor McGonagall tells me you knew of Arthur Weasley’s attack. How, may I ask, did you come by this information?"

Thalia’s fingers instinctively moved to the edges of her nails, picking at the dry skin around her cuticles. She bowed her head, unable to meet his penetrating gaze. "I don’t know entirely what happened, Headmaster," she said softly, her voice wavering. "I only caught snippets of a conversation between strangers."

Dumbledore waited silently, his calm presence urging her to continue.

"I don’t know the men," Thalia went on, her voice steadier now. "I’ve never seen them before in my life. But one referred to the other as Gibbon, and someone congratulated an Avery. Those are the only names I heard."

Dumbledore’s gaze sharpened slightly, though his expression remained neutral. "What else was mentioned, and where, Miss Winterbourne?" he asked, his tone dropping lower.

Thalia hesitated, her fingers stilling as she forced herself to speak. "I came home to a meeting between my grandfather and some of his… acquaintances," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "They sent me upstairs before I could get a real sense of what was happening, but they were loud. Probably because of the amount of alcohol they’d consumed."

Her throat felt tight, but she pushed through. "Suddenly, the atmosphere turned grave. They said their plan was in action and that soon the tides would turn. Once their plan had come to fruition… ‘he’ would reward them."

She finally found the courage to lift her gaze, meeting Dumbledore’s eyes. His expression was unreadable, though she could feel the weight of his attention pressing down on her.

"Another man arrived," she continued, her voice steadier now. "He said ‘they’ had known their plan and placed guards at the door. That’s when they mentioned the Weasleys. Said one of them had been attacked and left for dead."

Thalia stood frozen under Dumbledore’s piercing gaze, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. The twinkling light in his eyes had dimmed slightly, replaced by a quiet intensity that made her shift uneasily on her feet.

"So," Dumbledore said softly, "you overheard a meeting between your grandfather and his… associates. And from what you gleaned, it appears they were discussing a coordinated attack, culminating in the injury of Arthur Weasley. This is valuable information, Miss Winterbourne."

Thalia swallowed hard, her fingers continuing to nervously pick at her fingers until they stung and bled. "I didn’t know what else to do, Headmaster," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I had to come here. I thought if I told someone, it might help."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "You did the right thing by coming, Thalia. Your bravery and quick thinking may have saved lives tonight."

His words offered a small sense of relief, but the dread that had settled in her chest refused to lift entirely.

"And where is your grandfather now, along with these men you mentioned?" Dumbledore pressed, his voice calm but firm. "How did you manage to leave the house without being detected?"

Thalia hesitated, her eyes darting to Professor McGonagall, who stood nearby with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable but her gaze sharp.

"They left," Thalia said finally, her voice quiet but steady. "Summoned to a manor. He wanted advice from my grandfather on the next steps. I don’t know exactly where, but they all left in a hurry."

Dumbledore’s brow furrowed slightly, his fingers steepled in thought. "And you were left alone in the house?"

Thalia nodded. "Once they were gone, I grabbed my cloak and left. I didn’t have much time, but I knew I couldn’t stay there."

Professor McGonagall spoke up for the first time, her voice clipped but not unkind. "Miss Winterbourne, you’ve placed yourself in great danger tonight. If your grandfather or his associates had caught you leaving, the consequences could have been severe."

"I know," Thalia admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I couldn’t just stay there and do nothing. I had to help."

Dumbledore regarded her with a mixture of admiration and concern. "You have shown great courage, Miss Winterbourne. But I fear your position is precarious. If your grandfather or his associates suspect that you overheard their plans and shared them with us, they may view you as a threat."

Thalia’s stomach churned at the thought, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. "I understand, Headmaster. But this feels like the right thing. Helping my friends feels right."

"Then, my dear, that changes everything," Dumbledore said, his tone calm but laced with urgency. "Miss Winterbourne, as I’m sure you are aware, the world is changing before our very eyes. Times are becoming increasingly darker."

"Albus!" McGonagall interrupted, her voice sharp with indignation. "She’s just a girl! You can’t expect her—"

Dumbledore raised a hand, his expression one of quiet resolve. "Unfortunately, Minerva, I’m not sure we have a choice. The stakes are too high."

Thalia’s heart pounded in her chest as Dumbledore turned back to her, his gaze steady and unwavering. "I will give you two options today, Thalia. One where I can guarantee your safety, and the second… where you could help shift the course of the coming war in our favor."

She stared at him in shock, her mind reeling. She was barely seventeen, still adjusting to the idea of adulthood, looking forward to evenings spent laughing with her friends in the common room and learning how to apparate in the spring. And now, she was being asked to make a decision that could change the course of history.

Dumbledore’s voice softened slightly, though his eyes never left hers. "The first option is one you may wish to take. You would remain here in the castle, under the watchful care of myself and Professor McGonagall. You would no longer have to return home. Hogwarts would be your sanctuary, and we would ensure your safety."

Thalia’s breath hitched. The idea of staying at Hogwarts, far from her grandfather’s cold, oppressive house, was tempting. For the first time in years, she could imagine feeling truly safe.

But Dumbledore wasn’t finished.

"The second option," he continued, his tone growing heavier, "is much harder. It would require a level of courage and sacrifice that I do not ask lightly. You would return home."

Thalia’s head shot up, her eyes wide with alarm.

"It is my understanding," Dumbledore said gently, "from observing you over the years, that home is not a safe place. Your grandfather is not the kind of legal guardian he portrays himself to be."

Thalia’s throat tightened, her fingers trembling as she gripped her robe pulling it comfortingly tight around her.

"However," Dumbledore pressed on, "the information you would be privy to in that house could be invaluable. It could help us prevent attacks like the one on Arthur Weasley in the future. You would not be alone in this endeavor, Thalia. I would put you in contact with a very important person within the movement, someone you could safely pass information to. They would guide you and ensure that what you learn is used to protect others."

McGonagall’s face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Albus," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "this is too much to ask of her. She’s a child—"

"A child who has already shown remarkable bravery," Dumbledore interrupted gently. "I do not make this offer lightly, Minerva. Nor do I expect Thalia to decide now. But time is not on our side."

Thalia sat frozen, her mind a whirlwind of fear, doubt, and an unexpected flicker of determination. The idea of returning to her grandfather’s house, of living under his roof and pretending to be oblivious to his dark dealings, filled her with dread. But the thought of being able to make a difference, to protect families like the Weasleys, stirred something deep within her.

"I must warn you, however," Dumbledore continued, his voice low and steady, "that I cannot guarantee your safety, Thalia. It would be wrong of me not to tell you the truth."

He held her gaze, his piercing blue eyes searching hers, as though he could see the storm of fear and uncertainty raging inside her. "If something were to go wrong, and your position was discovered, we may not be able to rescue you. Our operation is completely covert at this stage, and to save you—" he paused, his tone grave—"would, in some cases, put others in danger."

Thalia swallowed hard, her throat dry. The weight of his words pressed down on her chest like a stone, and for a moment, she struggled to find her voice. The reality of what he was asking became painfully clear: this was no schoolyard game. This was war.

Her fingers dug into the fabric of her skirt as she dropped her gaze, unable to hold his any longer. "You mean… if I’m caught… I’m on my own," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Dumbledore inclined his head solemnly. "That is the harsh truth, I’m afraid."

A wave of nausea rolled over her, and Thalia’s thoughts tumbled over one another. She imagined the cold halls of her grandfather’s house, the weight of pretending, the dark looks of his acquaintances, and the constant threat of discovery. Her life would be a careful balancing act, with no net to catch her if she fell.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward, her expression tight with worry. "Thalia," she said softly, her voice uncharacteristically gentle, "you don’t have to do this. There is no shame in choosing safety. You are still a child, and this burden is far too heavy to bear alone."

Thalia looked up, her eyes darting between McGonagall’s concerned face and Dumbledore’s steady, expectant gaze. Her heart hammered in her chest as conflicting emotions warred within her. Safety. Sanctuary. A life where she could remain at Hogwarts, surrounded by friends, free from the shadows of her family.

But then she thought of George, of Ginny, of the pale, shaken faces of the Weasley siblings huddled by the fire. She thought of Arthur Weasley, lying in a hospital bed because of the men who had laughed so carelessly in her grandfather’s house.

She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms, creating half moon indents, as a spark of resolve flared deep inside her.

"I understand the risks," she said quietly, forcing her voice to steady. She looked up at Dumbledore, her expression hardening. "But if there’s a chance I can help stop this—stop them —then I have to try."

McGonagall let out a soft, disapproving sigh, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, but she said nothing.

Dumbledore, however, nodded, his gaze full of quiet pride. "A brave decision, Miss Winterbourne. Braver than most would make."

Thalia exhaled shakily, her chest tight with fear and determination. She didn’t feel brave. If anything, she felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into the abyss. But she knew one thing for certain: she couldn’t stand by and do nothing.

"Very well," Dumbledore said, straightening. "I will make the necessary arrangements. You will not be alone in this, Thalia. I promise you that much."

As the Headmaster turned back to his desk, Thalia felt the weight of her choice settle fully on her shoulders. There was no turning back now. Dumbledore reached for a piece of parchment, swiftly penning a detailed letter in his elegant script. Once finished, he folded it neatly and handed it to Fawkes, the majestic crimson phoenix who had been perched silently, observing the entire ordeal with stoic grace. As he took fight, Fawkes let out a soft, melodic trill, the note clutched delicately in his talons. The gentle sound echoed through the office, bringing an odd sense of calm to the room despite the tension crackling in the air.

Thalia’s eyes followed the magnificent bird for a moment before shifting back to the Headmaster. He stood tall, his robes sweeping the floor as he adjusted his half-moon spectacles and regarded her with that same mixture of warmth and gravity.

“For this to work,” Dumbledore began, his voice even and measured, “you must return home tonight and act as though nothing has happened.”

Thalia’s heart sank slightly at the thought of returning so soon, but she nodded resolutely.

“It is my belief,” Dumbledore continued, “that your grandfather does not see you as a threat. He believes his authoritarian stance has molded you into his perfect, submissive granddaughter.” His words were clipped but calm, though Thalia caught the faintest edge of disapproval in his tone. “You must uphold that image. That is your disguise—your greatest weapon—that allows you to remain in plain sight.”

Thalia inhaled sharply, her mind racing as she processed his words. She thought of her grandfather’s cold, calculating gaze, of the way he always seemed to look through her rather than at her. The thought of having to play his game, to smile and nod while his associates plotted atrocities, made her skin crawl. But she understood the necessity.

“Understood, sir,” she said softly, trying to sound confident as she made mental notes of everything he’d said. "But you must promise me one thing Professor, my friends cannot know. They can't know how I knew about Mr Weasley, they can't know about my situation outside of school and most importantly they can never know who my Grandfather is and what he is like. Promise me that."

Dumbledore’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, as if weighing her resolve. Finally, he nodded, satisfied. “I promise Thalia, but one day, promise me you will tell someone. Allow them to support you, you don't need to go through this alone. I think Mr Weasley, may be a willing listening ear should you let him be."

Thalia felt herself blush under the older man scrutiny, it appeared that those sparkling blue eyes saw and understood more than anyone gave him credit for. 

"Tonight, I shall escort you home myself,” Dumbledore continued, his tone brooking no argument. “I must ensure that your facade has not already been compromised. If it has, we will have to reconsider our approach.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, but before Thalia could respond, Dumbledore extended his arm toward her, a small but reassuring smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes had returned—the same twinkle that always reminded her of the twins. It was strange, seeing such a look in the face of someone so powerful, and yet it comforted her in a way she couldn’t explain.

Turning slightly, Thalia looked over at Professor McGonagall, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout the exchange. The stern professor’s face was lined with worry, her lips pressed into a thin line as she studied the young girl standing before her.

Summoning her courage, Thalia sent the older woman a timid smile. “Thank you for your help, Professor,” she said quietly, her voice sincere.

McGonagall’s expression softened, just slightly, and she stepped forward, placing a hand gently on Thalia’s shoulder. “I admire your courage, Miss Winterbourne,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with concern. “You are braver than you know. Stay safe, and remember—if you ever find yourself in need, help will always be given to those who ask for it.”

Thalia swallowed hard and nodded, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her. “I will, Professor,” she whispered.

With that, Dumbledore gave a small, knowing nod and gestured toward the door. “Shall we, Miss Winterbourne?”

Thalia took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she stepped forward and took the Headmaster’s offered arm. As they exited the office, she cast one last glance over her shoulder at McGonagall, who stood rooted to the spot, watching her with the expression of someone sending a soldier to war.

The castle was eerily quiet as they made their way through its shadowed corridors, Dumbledore’s presence beside her both reassuring and surreal. With every step, Thalia’s mind whirred with thoughts of what awaited her at home—of the lies she would have to tell, the mask she would have to wear, and the danger she would face alone.

But as they reached the great oak doors and stepped out into the bitter December night, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She was terrified, yes—but she was also determined. If she could do anything to stop the horrors she had witnessed, to protect the people she cared about, then it would be worth it.

“Courage, Miss Winterbourne,” Dumbledore said softly as they walked into the snow-laden darkness. “Courage often appears in the most unexpected places—and in the most unexpected people.”

Thalia said nothing, but the words stayed with her, echoing in her mind as they disappeared into the night.