**Disclaimer: The characters and situations of Harry Potter depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

**Rated M for: Graphic depictions of violence and sex, language.

"I see a bad moon a-risin'
I see trouble on the way
I see earthquakes and lightnin'
I see bad times today."
-Creedence Clearwater Revival
"Bad Moon Rising" (1969)

Prologue: Earthquakes and Lightning

November 14, 1978

It was a cold and windy night and Lily Evans was acutely aware of her discomfort. The insides of her ears hurt, exposed and frozen. She was not dressed warmly enough to be sitting outdoors on the small stone bench, yet she did not move. The agony of the moment was not due to the weather, but rather the waiting.

James. Where was James?

The wizarding world afforded many conveniences, but quick communication to someone across the country when one party's fireplace was not on the Floo network and the other had never used a telephone before was not necessarily one of them. She had sent him an owl…four hours ago? Seven? She wasn't sure. Time was blurry. Every minute felt like an hour and every hour felt like a minute. How long had she been sitting outside the hospital waiting? She could not say. Even the watch on her wrist told her nothing because she could not recall when this had all begun.

She was seated sideways on the bench now and she pulled her corduroy-covered knees close to her. Her near-numb fingers were idly fumbling over a piece of metal that was alternately both warm and chilled, as her body heat and the frigid air fought for dominance. She opened and shut, opened and shut her father's cigarette lighter.

James would be coming. He would receive her owl and arrive any moment now. She would not have to face this alone with Petunia and strangers. James would come.

Open. Shut. Open. Shut. She did not even attempt to light it; no flame would survive this gale.

A tree branch hit Lucius Malfoy's face none to gently. He had not seen it, running through the dark as he had been. He felt the rough bark tear at his skin, and he stopped for a moment to assess the damage.

Not too deep, but the skin was definitely broken. There was blood, trickling warmly from the gash and mingling with the rain. Lucius swore bitterly. He would get an earful about this from Narcissa, no doubt.

He sighed and strained to gather the motivation to begin running again. McNair was far enough ahead that he hadn't noticed that Lucius had stopped, and Snape was far enough behind. Their quarry, one Gallrick Mountjoy was very much ahead, so far so it seemed futile to give chase. Lucius was exhausted and more wheezing than breathing.

He saw your face, Lucius, he reminded himself. He knows who you are.

That was enough to get his feet moving once more. He darted through the trees, though more carefully than he had been before. Soon they would be to the edge of the McNair property and there would no longer be wards blocking one's ability to Apparate and Disapparate. If Mountjoy successfully escaped, he would be able to tell the world about their plucky little Death Eater outpost. The contraband, the rituals, the interrogation room. What was left of Wanda Bones.

It was ugly business for certain, but there were no alternative options left to be had. Mountjoy must be returned to the cottage cellar at all costs.

James Potter was out of his depth; he had neither the knowledge of the Muggle world to understand what had happened to Lily's parents, nor the emotional worldliness to manage the death of an immediate family member, let alone two.

When he had arrived to find Lily curled up on the bench, her nose and ears chapped red from the elements, there had been a desperation in her eyes. She was counting on him to help her make sense of this all. He had a role to play in this, a calling he was to fulfill. Amid the talk of an "automobile accident" and "surgery" James found himself overcome by not understanding very much at all. The Muggle doctor kept going on and on, and it was all gibberish. James knew it was not a time to ask questions. Lily understood perfectly.

As the doctor talked, she became more and more rigid beside him. It made her seem fragile, like glass that would shatter if nudged just so. He took her hand in his, and she squeezed it to the point of painfulness. The only part of this mess that was clear was that Lily's parents had died within the past hour.

Lily's sister Petunia was there in the room with them. James knew her by name only. He did not see much of his warm and vibrant girlfriend in her, nevertheless she, like Lily, had grown still, quiet as the details were delivered. Petunia's boyfriend, a man called Vernon, was doing most of the talking. Actually, it began as talking but was now more like yelling.

The way he spoke to the hospital staff, it was as though he believed them responsible by way of negligence for the deaths. While James' limited perspective on these people and just what their jobs entailed did not allow him to guess whether this was true or not, he could clearly see that Vernon's shouting was helping absolutely no one.

It was easily one of the most uncomfortable moments of James' life. He found himself feeling sorry for everyone in the room. He was overwhelmed by his alien-ness and his uselessness.

The shouting finally subsided when Petunia reached out one of her slight, pale hands and gently touched Vernon's ruddy arm. He silenced immediately, and she stumbled bonelessly into his arms.

After a moment the doctor excused himself. James found himself taking a cue from the other couple in the room: he pulled Lily close. In that first moment she remained rigid…but then she broke, collapsing into him and sobbing like he had never heard anyone sob before. James held her tight, not allowing her to pull back. He couldn't let her see his face; if she saw that, she would know just how lost he really was.

James met eyes with Petunia's boyfriend. He had taking an instant dislike to this beefy, neckless, bellowing man. Yet in this moment he and James understood one-another perfectly, they had everything in the world in common: the women that they loved were in pain and they could do nothing about it. Nothing.

This was not the way things were supposed to be. This was not the plan.

Severus Snape found himself, for the second time in one night, face to face with a lifeless body of his own making.

It didn't make sense. Mountjoy had escaped on foot, run away from the cottage on foot. McNair, Malfoy, and Severus had given chase, but McNair was obviously the one who would catch him. Severus spent all his time in musty rooms brewing potions; he could not even recall with clarity the last time he had physically exerted himself. Malfoy was a dandy who paid others to do manual labor for him. But this was McNair's property. The oversized lout had grown up here, knew the lay of the land blindfolded and drunk. McNair climbed trees and bashed in heads for fun.

So Severus had run after the escaped prisoner, but only to be seen doing it, only because it was expected. Clearly he wouldn't be the one to find Mountjoy, either doubling back as part of a misguided strategy or very lost, leaning against a tree, his bald pate in his hands.

Severus had called out to the man without thinking, but that had not gone his way. He had found himself giving chase again, his side feeling as though it was split open and breathing like he had never tasted air before. In a moment of desperation that would haunt him for years to come, Severus shot a blasting curse at the tree near Mountjoy.

It wasn't much of a plan, but if there had been any rationale, it was that perhaps the commotion would cause the man to lose balance, make him stumble or trip. Instead, Severus' spell caused the tree to explode, wooden shrapnel flying in every direction, and straight through the flesh of Gallrick Mountjoy. Merlin, the man looked as though he'd been hit with a meat tenderizer and then run over by a stampede of bicorn.

Severus felt the bile in his throat, but that was as far as it went. He refused to be sick over this. He cried two or three angry tears before reining himself in firmly.

Just months ago he had been eyeing a bloodied, poisoned Sirius Black and vowing that he would not become a killer. It seemed that carpet had flown regardless.

It was almost fifteen minutes before Malfoy and McNair found Severus and the body. The carcass was prone on the ground, the still-warm blood seeping into the dried leaves. Severus sat beside it like a friend, bundled in his cloak, dead-eyed and greasy hair dampened from the intermittent rain. It was dark, but moonlight painted enough of the scene.

"Good Lord!" Malfoy recoiled, only to turn back for a closer look. That scrutiny led to retching.

McNair took a different view. "Not bad, half-blood."

Severus said nothing.

Author's Note: Apparently, ask and ye shall receive. Many said that they would be interested in this endeavor, and the truth is I just had too many good ideas to pass up the opportunity anyway. I know that this little teaser isn't very long, but it's just a prologue; chapters will be quite a bit meatier. If you haven't read Buried Treasure and Transmogrify, you will still probably be able to follow the story pretty well, but for full effect, I recommend going back to read it.

Part of my inspiration for this fic was the evocative music of this era. The 70s were a pretty turbulent time, a time of controversial war, for Muggles and wizards alike, and much of the music reflects that. Being something of a classic rock geek, I found that I couldn't resist adding a little flavor. The title of this story comes from the Pink Floyd song Wish You Were Here (the verse in question being, "So... So you think you can tell / Heaven from hell? / Blue skies from pain? / Can you tell a green field / from a cold steel rail? / A smile from a veil? / Do you think you can tell? / Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? / Hot ashes for trees? / Hot air for a cool breeze? / Cold comfort for change? / Did you exchange a walk-on part in the war / for lead role in a cage?"). The title of each chapter of this story will be from a song of the era.

Thank you to anyone who stopped by for a read!