Oleandra and many of the other seventh-years were understandably upset as they exited the classroom. For most, this had been their very first Muggle Studies lesson, in which they were essentially told that Muggles would be rounded up into concentration camps and treated as breeding stock to rapidly boost the British Wizarding World's population. It was all too reminiscent of a certain desperate nation's policies as the War reached its inevitable conclusion.
"This is who you've thrown your lot in with," Tracey said witheringly, glaring at Oleandra. "I certainly hope you're happy."
The girls weren't especially keen on the "we must all do our part," part of Professor Carrow's speech, but a few of the boys across all four Houses did not appear overly upset at the idea of "planting their seeds in fertile fields," as Alecto had put it.
The seventh-years followed behind the Carrow siblings as they marched up the stairs to their final class of the day: Dark Arts. Normally, the school's corridors would hum with chatter and bristle with rule breaking— such as students casting spells in the halls— but with such chaperones present, nobody dared speak louder than a whisper.
Although Amycus was meant to be the Dark Arts teacher, it seemed his sister would be joining him as well. The Carrows appeared to have decided to share the burden of teaching between them, since both of their classes were mandatory. Normally, with the exception of N.E.W.T.-level lessons, teachers arranged their schedules around classes of roughly thirty students—some drawn from all four Houses, others from just two, or even only one.
But the Carrows, in their laziness, had done away with this convention and decided to teach the entirety of each year at once, leaving them free to help each other out with the other's lessons.
"Come on, help me out here, Daphne," Oleandra said pleadingly. "Tell Tracey I had nothing to do with that assassination business."
But Daphne kept quiet and said nothing. Tracey was currently disgusted with the both of them, but if Oleandra made up with her girlfriend, then Tracey would undoubtedly convince her to cut all ties with her sister. Daphne would be all alone again, and she did not want that to happen.
"Then why did Harry tell everyone you were in on it?" Tracey shot back. "Oleandra, I was worried sick when you disappeared that Christmas, but you're always doing things like this, so considering what you did when you came back, I suppose I was fretting for nothing!"
As much as Tracey would have liked to storm off, she could not very well pass the Carrows, so she simply turned away in a huff, refusing to speak further to either Oleandra or Daphne.
A few short minutes later, the group finally reached the old Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, repurposed into the Dark Arts classroom. As if on cue, the bell rang, and Amycus unlocked the classroom door. The Carrows settled themselves at the desk at the front, discussing something amongst themselves in a low voice, while the students scrambled to take whatever seats they could sink their bottoms into.
Oleandra sighed listlessly, hunching over her desk and propping her head on her arm.
"What's the matter?" asked Daphne in concern. "Tracey's bothering you, isn't she? I'll have her expelled, and you won't ever have to see her again—"
"It's not that," sighed Oleandra. "I mean, it's part of it, but I was thinking about something else."
Oleandra didn't know what she would have done if the Carrows had started torturing Stacey right in front of her. She was lucky she hadn't been forced to make a decision right there and then, but the question still tortured her inside. What would she have done?
The words of wisdom inscribed upon the heavens rang in her ears incessantly in response:
Better not to ask than to sacrifice too much
For a gift is always rewarded
And a boon always demands a return
Better not to offer than have to slay too many.
The gist of the message was simple: to become extraordinary was to become a perfected person: a person without any regrets. One had to be prepared to sacrifice anything and everything, no matter how dearly one held those things to one's heart. Those unwilling to do so should not even attempt to enter the realm of the extraordinary, for they would only come to regret it.
You-Know-Who was one such person.
Already born with qualities that ordinary Wizards could never hope to achieve in their lifetimes, he had pioneered his own path to immortality, caring for nothing but himself and viewing all others as mere pawns, using or discarding them as he saw fit.
From a certain point of view, his path was a just one: in his world of pure egoism, he alone was a true person, for all others were beneath him— even Dumbledore, who had stood on the precipice of greatness, only to turn back at the last moment, seeking answers in the ridiculous notion of love rather than in the deepest secrets of magic.
"But what do I want…?"
Was Oleandra's will to achieve the impossible and restore Avalon only worth as little as one insignificant Muggle girl? If she got herself expelled from Hogwarts trying to rescue her from the clutches of the Death Eaters, she would lose her only shot at mastering the Elder Wand by killing Daphne and obtaining the Invisibility Cloak from Loki and truly assembling the Deathly Hallows.
The problem was that if Oleandra sacrificed everything she had ever cared for… would the victory at the end, whatever form it took, not feel utterly hollow? The magic in the stars' poem suggested there was wisdom in knowing when to turn back: sometimes, the hardest thing in life was not to act, but to let go. The ordinary should remain ordinary, after all— and Oleandra had always been ordinary, from the very beginning.
But being ordinary did not mean one couldn't become extraordinary.
Being only a little bit special meant that your starting line was merely a step ahead of everyone else's. Every sentient being possessed infinite potential, which made it a matter of willpower alone— the will to sacrifice everythingone had to offer in exchange for everything the world had to give.
And so, Oleandra was conflicted, but these sorts of decisions were not ones she could make in the abstract— she would know her answer when it stared her in the face… when she would be left with no choice but to act.