Summary: The Marauders have recently graduated from Hogwarts. As they navigate their way through adult life, those left behind at Hogwarts struggle to separate what should be their last childhood years from the growing peril outside of the castle's walls. This story follows students in their last year at Hogwarts, and then into their time spent in opposing factions: the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters.

Disclaimer: JK owns all that is Harry Potter.

PART ONE - Seventh Year (September 1978)

Between her fingers, Marlene McKinnon held a badge. It glinted softly in the sunlight as she angled it towards the window of the train, reflecting a shimmering red hue onto the wall of the carriage. She examined it carefully, tracing the words 'Head Girl' contained within the swirling banner. It was strange; if you had told an eleven-year-old Marlene that, come her seventh year she was to be made Head Girl, there would have been no stopping the explosion of glee from her little mouth. Now, it seemed like an empty gesture.

On the empty train seat beside her sat a newspaper. A half-concealed photograph displayed a beaming man whose arm was wrapped around a smiling woman. A Christmas tree stood tall beside them. Unfolding the paper, Marlene spread it across her lap and forced her face to remain impassively still as she read about the death of a married couple. Their bodies were found shortly after the sighting of a glittering green skull in the sky above an eerily empty house. With forcibly steady hands, Marlene refolded the paper and placed it back on the seat. A Headship was an immense privilege, but it seemed to Marlene as though there was little she could do to help the world from within a classroom and with a meagre badge as her weapon.

As per the instructions she had received from Professor Dumbledore on the award of her Headship, Marlene had arrived at the train station ahead of the 11 o'clock schedule. She had already bid farewell to her parents that morning, as they would accompany her younger siblings to the station later on. Despite having done the same for the previous six years, hugging them goodbye always left Marlene with a heavy sadness in the pit of her stomach.

Outside on the platform, the gentle hum of voices was beginning to swell as more students arrived. They were being swept into tremendous hugs by parents; mothers were wiping away tears, and fathers were mussing the hair of their sons. Marlene climbed to her feet, straightened out her robes, pressed her palms to the window ledge and drank in the smells and the atmosphere of what was to be her last train journey to Hogwarts. Her mind lingered momentarily on whom she was to share her Headship with. Dumbledore's letter had made no mention of it, and none of her friends had heard any rumours.

As the door to the Prefect's carriage thumped open, Marlene inwardly cursed her curious mind. In the doorway stood Evan Rosier, clad in his emerald-lined robes. The mere sight of him made her skin crawl. Her first thought was one of dread at the sheer futility of the year to come. Her second thought was an almost undesirable urge to stamp her badge into the ground as an act of rebellion. The simmering rage must have crept onto her face, for Rosier smirked.

"Well, well," Rosier said as he strode into the carriage. "If it isn't Miss McKinnon. I was hoping for someone a bit more – " he paused, cocking his head with that same haughty smile on his face. " – fun".

A noise between that of a growl and a scoff of disdain made its way to Marlene's lips. Rosier grinned a bit more widely, knowing he had hit his mark. He pulled his trunk in behind him and gestured vaguely to it. "Want to help?" Marlene folded her arms across her chest and sat defiantly on the seat, staring stonily at the boy who was to be her partner for the next twelve months.

"Suit yourself," he said, hauling the trunk above his head and into the rack, scuffing Marlene's own belongings in his process. As he was settling into the seat beside Marlene, she surveyed the boy that was Evan Rosier. He had inherited that chiseled jawline and angular cheekbones that all rich pureblood families seem to possess. He had dark eyes that were rarely touched by warmth from a smile. If ever there was a glint in Evan Rosier's eyes, it would be of malice – or something worse. His dark eyes were matched by his possibly even darker hair, perfectly coiffed; it framed his face and contrasted against the pale of his skin.

Rosier turned to Marlene, who looked away resentfully. "You don't talk much. Do you, McKinnon?"

Marlene crossed her legs beneath her robes and stared stonily at the wall. "When I was eleven, you locked me in a broom cupboard." She heard what she thought might be a chuckle. Marlene whipped her head around and glared at him. It was, indeed, a chuckle. "When I was thirteen, you knocked me off my broom in my first ever Quidditch match. They didn't let me play for a month."

Rosier raised his eyebrows. It was clear that he couldn't care less about her sporting woes. "Are you done?"

Marlene's impassive expression returned, but her trembling voice betrayed her emotion. "Last year, you sent my best friend to the hospital wing for being a muggleborn."

There was a moment of silence. Rosier stared at her coolly. "And I'd do it again."

Anger exploded within Marlene's chest. She jumped to her feet, snatched her wand from beneath her robes and pointed it mercilessly at Rosier's throat. "She nearly died," Marlene spat.

Rosier sat there, seemingly fearless, and surveyed Marlene. "Put your wand away, McKinnon," he said steadily. "We both know that you don't have it in you."

Marlene's hand quavered, before dropping lamely to her side. A smirk tugged at the corners of Rosier's lips. "You're right, Rosier," she breathed. "I don't enjoy hurting people." Marlene saw his knuckles tighten around what she assumed to be his concealed wand, wondering momentarily whether she had pushed him too far. A knock on the compartment door fragmented the heavy silence. Marlene turned just in time to see a girl with a blonde bob poke her face around the door. The girl glanced between Evan and Marlene, eyeing Marlene's unsheathed wand. For a moment there was silence as the newcomer detected the tension.

"Hi, Marlene," Dorcas Meadows said with forced casualness. "You ready for the Prefects?" Marlene allowed herself a smile directed at Dorcas. She hadn't seen the girl all summer, and Dorcas had this strange calming affect whenever she walked into the room. Rosier was watching the Gryffindor Prefect with unmasked disdain etched into his face.

Marlene allowed the anger to seep out of her, as she subtly pocketed her wand. "Yeah. Are the rest out there? Bring them in, if you would." Marlene reluctantly took her seat beside her fellow Head Prefect, stilling her trembling hands by folding them in her lap. As the remaining prefects filed in, Marlene caught a glimpse of the look on Rosier's face. His lips were curled in a humourless smile, but his eyes were strangely blank. As he got to his feet to welcome the new prefects – in a terribly arrogant way, if she did say so herself –, Marlene wanted nothing more than to punch that stupid face into submission, and maybe break a few bones while she was at it.

"I still can't believe it," Dorcas said in hushed tones, hugging a pillow to her chest. She was sitting cross-legged on her four-poster bed, swaddled in a velvet dressing gown. "There's no way that Dumbledore doesn't know what he's really like."

Their dormitory was swathed in the flickering glow from fast-dying lamplight. Comatose by the magnificent feast, two girls were already soundly asleep, their hanging curtains shielding them from view. Marlene glanced at the bed adjacent to her own, upon which a tall, willowy girl was lying on her stomach, her eyes staring unfocusedly on the rug in the centre of the room. Mary McDonald completed the trio of Gryffindor girls who had been inseparable ever since they shared a night of rebellion in their second year, in which they snuck out of their dormitories in search of the kitchens. They came back empty-handed, giggling, and with an eternal pledge of friendship.

"Giving that boy power is like throwing petrol on a fire," Dorcas continued. "It's madness."

Marlene breezed over the fact that she had no idea what this 'petrol' was – and what would happen if it was thrown on a fire –, in order to warily observe Mary. Marlene chose her words carefully, watching for her reaction. "He doesn't know Rosier was there that night."

"And it should stay that way," Mary said firmly.

"I don't understand why, Mary!" Marlene said exasperatedly. "If I told McGonagall that I was there and I saw him – "

"I don't want you to," she retorted.

"But, Mary," Dorcas implored, in softer tones. "If someone knew, he might get his Headship taken away. He might even get expelled."

"What, like Mulciber did?" Mary snapped. Dorcas bowed her head, burying her chin in her pillow. Marlene recalled that, for weeks after that night, Mary would pale whenever she walked past emerald-lined robes. She would shrink into herself whenever they had a Potions class in the dungeons. Marlene could only imagine how agonising it was to see Mulciber strut around the corridors, that triumphant leer plastered across his face, as he was let off with a mere week's worth of detention.

Mary sighed heavily, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. Her fingers remained at the level of her neck, where Marlene knew she was probing a puckered scar with gentle fingertips. "I don't want to talk about it, guys," she said tiredly. "I've made my peace with it, and the last thing I want is to bring it all up again."

"I'm sorry, Mary," Marlene murmured.

Mary brushed her apology away with a wave, rolling onto her stomach once more with a somewhat forced smile on her face. "No apologies," she said. "No more talk of crappy Slytherins."

"No more," Dorcas echoed solemnly.

As the girls readied themselves for bed, Marlene's mind buzzed around the events of that night. Mary had told them that, past Mulciber's curse, she really didn't remember much at all. Had it not been for Marlene stumbling across them whilst searching for her missing friend, they might never have known Rosier was involved. Mary swore she didn't remember him there, his wand unsheathed and his eyes glinting. And Marlene wasn't keen on pressing her for the details. That night, Marlene dreamt of a cold stone floor, a flash of red, and the cruel smirk of Evan Rosier.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter.

EDIT (1st July 2016) - this chapter was consolidated with chapter two.