Emmeline and Mary, newlyweds now, are more than happy to train me. After they eloped, they offered their house to us, and after threatening Remus with their wands, we are all living together.

I told Remus about Draco before we moved in, after taking a break from our weekly movie-marathons. He'd straightened up, tears forming in his eyes, before hugging me.

"You're so brave, Anne. And strong."

I didn't believe him then, and I still don't, but I want his warmth to last forever.

Even Susan, who was hostile after Draco and I's relationship spilled out, believes I'm brave. She'd said it in a shaky voice, embracing me after arriving at our door, shaking and cold from the dead of the night. This was before Remus and I had moved in with Mary and Emmeline; I'd given Susan our address months before our friendship broke. Remus had arranged for Susan to stay over while her father, a respected Healer, spent multitudes of shifts with bleeding patients.

"You don't know how ━━━ how goddamn brave you are," she'd said. There were no tears, but I saw everything in her eyes, like how she read my mind.

"Brave is hardly a word I'd use to describe me," I whispered into her touch, into her soft hugs of kindness that no one had shown me in that lonely castle. I suppose Draco is an exception, but his kindness soured; I hardly count his violent tendencies to be kind, and if anything, he's destructive and dangerous.

We'd spent two days together, waking in the depressingly empty park, eating food from our kitchen, and doing everything we were supposed to do as adolescent girls.

"Stay still," she'd scolded as she applied eyeliner on my eyes, our bodies close together. I counted the freckles on her face to keep me sane.

"I'm trying," I'd muttered, desperately forcing my fidgeting-prone body to stay still, because god damn it, the look in her eye almost enticed me.

Her jasmine scented breath fanned my face as she scrunched her eyebrows together, eyes narrowed as her smooth and precise fingers gripped the brush. She'd moved onto eyeshadow, dipping the brush into multitudes of colors, and spreading it on my face.

We'd snuck into Remus's after-wolf-transformation beer cabinet as the evening dipped into the cold darkness of the night, the moon dangling from the sky. I filled up multiple cups, grinning as she said "Cheers," giggling in the moonlight as Remus was spending his moments upstairs with Emmeline and Mary, doing business for the Order. To forget it all meant to get drunk, so I pressed my cup to my lips and chugged.

Coughing and sputtering, I'd spit the beer out as Susan gracefully sipped for her glass, eyes mirthful.

"Fuck, that tastes like hand sanitiser," I'd said, sticking my tongue out.

"It's an acquired taste," Susan said calmly, sipping more.

We'd looked at each other, sharing glances filled with youth, before bursting into loud giggles; many cups later, we stumbled back into the house and into my bathroom. I was grabbing my rose-scented perfume to spray all over our bodies.

"Hmm," I'd slurred, before handing Susan a bottle. "I don't want you to use my perfume. I like the way you smell, already."

"And how do I smell?" she'd asked, almost challenging.

"Jasmine," I'd whispered. "Like the flowers in your hair."

I saw the blood rush to her cheeks, and she didn't giggle or smile or laugh or cry. She just looked at me like she hadn't before, like a spell had been cast.

"I'll wear it every day, then," she said decisively, before taking the perfume from my hand and spraying it.

Now, I press my hands to my face and try not to scream, because what the fuck was that? I am never getting drunk again, not in a billion years.

Thankfully Remus didn't say anything about us passing out at two past midnight and waking up at eleven in the morning, a headache pounding in my head as the sun shined too sharply for a regular day.

Susan had left that afternoon, and ever since then, our letters grew constant, far more sent than the letters between me and Ginny.

I spent the next month practically in isolation besides that visit from Susan. Training with Emmeline and Mary felt glorious, refreshing, and obviously tiring, but it became easier the longer I trained. Using my new wand was like using Susan's wand weeks ago. The wand I'd bought years ago fit me like a glove. I didn't want to accept it, but the spells burst to life, like flames, moving around me.

Emmeline and Mary taught me to dodge and kick and move and fight.

"Sit up!" Emmeline had snapped when I fell to the ground, tired. "You asked for training. You can't get out of this now."

"She's just a kid, Em," Mary muttered, offering me her hand, but I shook my head.

"Emmeline's right. This is war. I can't be weak now."

They'd already taught me self-defense years ago, but my fear had never allowed me to use it; now, it's as if I am a new person, alive and stronger.

I'm no longer malnourished with thin hair. Thicker curls bounce and frame my face, which now has some rosy color to it. I don't feel like a skin-tight skeleton anymore.

I don't feel horrible anymore.

. . .

The letters from Ginny and Susan arrive constantly ━━━ mostly, the latter, though.

She is so much more vulnerable on these pieces of paper. Perhaps it's because we shared a near-death experience, or that drunken night. And despite my horror whenever I wake up from a dangerous nightmare, Rosier snapping the wand to torture me from more, I've also gained friends. Ginny and Susan are like a breath of fresh air to weak lungs, heaven to my lonely heart.

Today, I went to the graveyard for my Aunt Susan's death anniversary, Susan wrote in one of her letters, more than a day ago. It was sad, I admit, but there is something about this war that makes me angry. They took away good souls, like our families.

I know, and it hurts terribly. I wish we could do something about it, I replied back yesterday. I'm sorry for your loss. You can talk about it if you want.

Her newest letter, pristine as always, says: I appreciate it. Thank you, Potter.

My stomach flutters.

I've told Ginny to call me Anne, along with Remus's now wife Tonks ━━━ I was the Maid of Honor for their wedding, surprisingly ━━━ Emmeline, and Mary (and obviously Susan when she'd visited, even though she still refers to me as "Potter"). They all agreed without questioning it, although Emmeline pulled me aside days after I told her and hugged me, telling me that she shouldn't have pressured me for war as much as she did.

I'd relaxed in her grip.

"It's okay," I'd said. "War is war."

I'm just glad that they've all accepted that the pathetic, whiny girl I used to be is gone. I'll admit, I miss being her. I sought validation and found it, and it sure is harder to find it from myself. But I'm getting there, and I'm not alone now.

That thought fills me with hope.

Cycles and cycles of training has made me fatigued, but Susan and Ginny's letters keep me alive and motivated. I don't know how Ginny became a friend, but I'm not mad about it, just confused when an invitation shows up for me now: Fleur Delacour and Bill Weasley's wedding. I was never personally friends with either of them, although I'd idolized Fleur in my fourth year, but Ginny has personally attached a letter, insisting that I go.

To Anne ━━━

I hope you can attend. It'll be a break from the mess that is the outside world. Plus, Harry misses you, Anne. And I can't wait to chat with you. I hope to see you there!

Love,
Ginny

P.S. Susan is invited as well! We're planning to seat you two next to each other :)

Smiling giddily, I send a letter to Ginny, a quick response: This is from Anne! Ginny, I would love to attend. Whether Harry misses me or not is irrelevant, because what I did was my fault. I hope he's doing well, and I hope to see you there as well.

I get up, stretching, before picking up my wand and heading to the basement to practice my dueling. I've learned to dodge, to attack, to kill.

This is war, Anne, I tell myself as the green light hits the dummy that Emmeline had bought for my training. You kill or be killed.

Even though the upcoming wedding fills me with hope, the hand around my throat brings me dread. This year will perhaps be the worst of them all.

I clutch my wand. All the muggleborns will be forever marked, wands broken, eyes crushed of hope ... but I know that despite the Death Eaters wanting to "send them home", the poor children will be subjected to much more than that.

I can imagine their homes burning, crashing down as everything withers.

Even if I can't save them, I can save the children in the castle, even if I have to kill every last Death Eater there. It is the least I can do, after allowing Draco to flood the school with murderers. I did nothing then, when I was feeble and easily swayed by pretty words.

That will change this year.