I didn't say all the things that I wanted to say
And you can't take back what you've taken away
'Cause I feel you, I feel you near me

There's mending for my soul; an ending to this fear
Forgiveness for a man who was stronger
I was just a little girl, but I can't look back…

I must go on…

~ "Damaged"
(Plumb)

Laurel shivered as she stepped out of the cab. After the desert, late August England was positively freezing. She had long since begun to doubt the sanity of her decision to return and the weather did not improve her mood at all. She had arrived in London a few days previous, on the twenty-eighth, and had been boarding at the Leaky Cauldron. Tomorrow she would enter the entirely wizarding world of Hogwarts School and had spent the day finalizing the last of her Muggle-based affairs.

Once inside the crowded pub, Laurel slowly picked her way over to the bar and took a seat.

"What'll it be today, Professor?" asked Tom, the kindly aging bartender.

"Oh, something not too hard, I should think. I wouldn't want to begin term with a hangover the size of Gringott's, would I?" Laurel smiled briefly at her own joke as the bartender chuckled.

"No, I can't see as how that would be appropriate. By the way, Professor, your packages from Diagon Alley arrived and I took the liberty of putting them on your bed for you."

Laurel uttered her thanks as Tom handed her a freshly filled mug. Tucking a lock of wavy blonde hair behind her ear, she stared sadly into its' swirling amber depths.

This was the first time in many years that Laurel had been in such close proximity to so many people and the effect was overwhelming. Laurel's innate gift of weak telepathy had been recently resurrected, and the impressions of people's thoughts flooded her mind. Most of the feelings were friendly, but she sensed a few stray suspicious thoughts.

Perhaps it was simply paranoia, but Laurel felt that wizarding folk were beginning to recognize her despite the reports of her death years ago. She was sure that the rumors and the whispers had started again.

None of it was new to Laurel. It was as if her murky past was being dredged up for all to see. But this wasn't a sudden development, either; rather, it had been resurrected two years ago when Sirius Black escaped Azkaban. Laurel had ideas on how he accomplished that, but refused to share her knowledge with the authorities. Whether because of some ill-kept loyalty or an unwillingness to step back into the public light, she vowed to keep his secret.

Disgusted with the overbearing mind-chatter, Laurel drained her drink, left a few coins on the bar in payment, and headed up to her room. Away from people. Again. This was getting slightly repetitive.

True to his word, Tom had placed her parcels on the corner of her freshly made bed. Opening the first of the brown-wrapped packages, Laurel found the items she had ordered from Madam Malkin: numerous sets of everyday black robes, a few dark blue standard robes, and a single set of dress robes.

Laurel stepped into a pair of the black robes to double-check the fitting. Doing the same for the blue robes, she examined herself critically in the mirror. The robes were nothing special- the same style she used to wear all the time. It felt strange to be wearing them after so long.

A cold shiver ran down her back and she shuddered reflexively. The last thing she needed right now was to be reminded of her past.

Shedding the blue robes, Laurel tried on her dress robes - long, flowing indigo material that shimmered as if wet when caught by the light. Obviously Madam Malkin was like Mr. Ollivander in that she remembered every customer as well, for these were identical in almost every sense to a set of robes she had worn long ago.

Laurel braced herself, tried to stop it, but she could not prevent the memory from rushing forth out of a time farther away than dreams.

~~~
Laurel stood in the Great Hall, which was all decked out for the Christmas season - the Winter Ball of her seventh year. She scanned the room for her friends.

Do you still remember
How we used to be?
Feeling together, believing whatever
My love has said to me.
Both of us were dreamers,
Young love in the sun,
Felt like my savior, my spirit I gave ya,
We'd only just begun.
Hasta mañana, Always be mine…

Viva forever, I'll be waiting
Everlasting, like the sun.
Live forever, for the moment,
Ever searching for the one…

But something wasn't right. This wasn't the song she remembered dancing to. What was wrong?
~~~

When Laurel was jerked abruptly back to harsh reality, she felt a warm liquid on her face - tears. She realized belatedly that her neighbor, a teenage witch with an obvious affinity for Muggle music and listening to her stereo too loudly, had provided the new music of her fantasy.

It was then that the words of the song hit her, sending an Arctic chill racing through her body. Laurel slumped forward, gripped the edge of the bureau as the tears flowed unchecked, and stared at her enraged reflection in the mirror. She looked a horrible mess, with her hair mussed by static and her blue eyes even bluer against the background of bloodshot red.

"Yes, goddamnit, I remember. Everything. Every last painful detail of every damned moment," Laurel hissed, her voice rising dangerously as she spoke. "Did you know it would turn out like this, Sirius? Is this what you planned all along? To destroy me as fully as you did James and Lily? Peter? Remus, even? Or am I just a casualty, a side effect? Is this what you wanted?! If it is, then honey, you've gotten your wish! Look at me! I'll never be able to live normally and Dumbledore thinks I can teach? Ha! All because of you! Are you happy yet?" Laurel was all but screaming now.

Sobbing, she fell back onto her bed and whispered, "I loved you then, Sirius. Did you know that? I would have given everything - and I almost did. But obviously the Sirius Black I fell in love with is not the Sirius Black you are. I'm sorry."

Laurel turned off the room's lights with an absent-minded flick of her wand, plunging herself into total darkness. She cried herself to sleep like a child, furious at herself for letting such old matters resurface so easily.

Soon she was able to sleep peacefully, undisturbed by dreams.