Most of the group filed out after that, murmuring their respectful goodbyes to Headmaster Dumbledore and hugging Lily and James. Dumbledore took Remus aside. Remus was looking pale and underfed, which wasn't unusual this close to the full moon. His dusty-brown hair hadn't been cut in weeks; it was brushing his collar now.

"Hi, Peter," James threw an arm around Peter's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Sorry we couldn't chat earlier. Obviously there was something a bit more urgent going on." He smiled wanly and scratched at his two-day growth of stubble.

"S'all right," Peter smiled. For a moment, his rosy plan for post-graduate life flashed through his mind: Peter had envisioned getting a flat with the other three after school. They would all be wildly successful at glamorous jobs—maybe a group endeavor—and they'd always be having a laugh.

But then James' parents died and left him the house, and he and Lily had gotten engaged and moved in. Sirius much preferred living alone—the better to entertain guests—and Remus couldn't afford to live anywhere, really. Peter had watched his expectations dissolve in the months after graduation; now he found himself lifting boxes in a shop and living in a pathetic flat above a record store off of Diagon Alley.

Despite this disappointment, it was far worse to confront the reality of Dumbledore's plan to risk their lives. It would not improve his circumstances, or those of his friends.

Lily approached, cradling a stack of plates in one arm. Her free hand held a wand that was levitating several glasses. "Well, that's the last of them. I really shouldn't be as paggered as this after the very first meeting, should I?" She leaned heavily into James, her coppery hair spilling over his shoulder. "Come to the kitchen?"

The Potters' kitchen was bathed in warm, incandescent light—unlike many other wizarding families, they had embraced magically modified electric lights; thin, curly filaments glowed yellow-white in the clear glass bulbs. The cozy light reflected in the brass fixtures and copper pots and threw an orange sheen onto the squat cast-iron stove.

They all settled quietly at the kitchen table; James worried gently at the surface with his fingernail. Sirius straddled a bench and pulled out his pocketknife to scratch a design into its weathered wood. Lily piled the plates in the sink and produced a dusty bottle of red wine that Peter was sure cost more than his rent; the Potters hadn't owned wine younger than their son. She poured them all a glass, plus two extras for Dumbledore and Remus who were still out in the corridor.

Peter sat next to Sirius. On Sirius' other side, Dorcas was leaning her chin on his shoulder, watching his artistry intently. Peter peered down at Sirius' hands—he was etching the tiny outline of a dog into the bench. Peter's mouth quirked up. Sirius had always been the best artist among them—he had been the one to draw the blueprint of Hogwarts onto the Marauder's Map, and he had certainly been the most devastated to lose his masterpiece to Filch. He'd tried in vain to steal it back, adding more and more detentions to his already formidable count.

After a few moments of silence, James cleared his throat and folded his hands on the table. "So, what do you all think? It means a lot to me that you all stayed."

Sirius looked up. "Of course, mate. In a scrape, there's no other place I'd rather be. Besides, I'm not going to let you go down in history as some war hero without me."

"Are we really getting ourselves into a war, mate?" Peter asked, trying to sound light. "Honest-to-Merlin battle and bloodshed? Ha-ha." He waited hopefully for James to contradict him, to tell him that the whole thing couldn't be farther from a 'war', but Sirius answered instead.

"I'm looking forward to it," Sirius' voice had a knife's edge that didn't match his dashing smile. "I don't mind being the one to reduce the population of elitist, blood-purist bastards. Maybe I'll even get to pay my cousins a visit." He slugged Peter playfully in the shoulder.

Peter felt a distant panic rising in him. Was this it, then? Is this how wars really began? He had always imagined important government officials at long tables, not a bunch of kids who were barely of age lazing about in a kitchen.

"I think the point is to be covert, Sirius," James said edgily, wiping his glasses on the hem of his shirt. "The last thing we need is more deaths."

Sirius shrugged. "Who said anything about killing?" But he was looking sulky. Sirius was the type who loved to seem swashbuckling and devil-may-care—and he often achieved it, but having James's support was essential.

Dorcas nudged Sirius playfully. "All hopes of glory aside, it means a lot to be a part of something like this, and it's a chance to really make our positive mark on history."

So long as that mark isn't a smear on the pavement, Peter thought, a little surprised at his own cynicism.

Dorcas was a sweet, patient girl, and incredibly naive; she had to be all three to last a whole eight months with Sirius Black. To Sirius's credit, that was a record for the old dog. Sirius even trusted her with the truth of their status as animagi, a secret that Dorcas seemed quite tickled to be in on. She often had to suppress a delighted grin whenever it came up in conversation.

"Damn right," Sirius agreed, pausing in his project to lean over and kiss Dorcas on the cheek. "This is our chance to carve out the legacy we always talked about!" He kicked Peter's foot under the table and winked.

Doubt gnawed at Peter's mind; he couldn't share Sirius's straightforward enthusiasm. Hadn't they taken History of Magic right alongside him? Didn't they remember what happened to the foolish young wizards who rode out with only their hopes and honor and bravado as armor? Certainly those wizards considered themselves to be heroes fighting for the righteous cause, but history reflected on them as needlessly dead; as reckless men who perished in vain.

On second thought, he considered, with dark amusement. They had always been more preoccupied with planning their next prank than with paying attention in class. Peter would not be surprised if they'd ignored the section on rebellions altogether.

Perhaps he could tell them. He could remind them of the inadvisability of rushing into a seemingly noble cause. But then, Sirius and James usually felt that anything worthy of their precious attention was meant to be rushed into. How could Peter explain the twisting feeling in his stomach at the sound of Dumbledore's words: That does, sadly, include the threat of death.

I have to at least try, Peter thought. They're my friends.

"I—er." The others turned to look at him, and his mouth went dry. Peter had always gone out of his way to be willing, to be agreeable. Outright disagreement was an unfamiliar and unsettling feeling.

He chose his angle carefully. "I mean, I've read a bit about this guy in the Prophet, but…can it really be as serious as all that? Don't get me wrong—he sounds pretty awful, but is it…responsible to make him out to be the next Grindelwald? No one can even describe the man. Is this enough to cause a full-blown war?"

Most of his friends exchanged blank glances, but Sirius' mouth twisted. "Well, I dunno, Pete. I guess that depends on if you think that blood purity is a worthy cause to fight."

James rolled his eyes. "I don't think that's what Peter, means, Sirius."

Peter tried again. "I just think it's a bit soon to be talking about something we'd be risking our lives over without all the facts."

Sirius snorted. "I guess you never met my relatives, did you, Peter? Never heard the muck they spouted about the 'muggle filth' and 'blood traitors'—"

"I-I didn't mean—" This was going all wrong.

"Peter, it's fine," Lily cut in smoothly. She looked tired, but not unfriendly. "I know that this all seems sudden and I admit there doesn't seem to be a whole lot to worry about on the surface. But all the signs point to a big threat brewing, and Dumbledore's been putting a lot of thought into a response for quite some time." She glared briefly at Sirius. "I suppose James and I should've mentioned something to you all earlier on, but it was Dumbledore's idea, you know. We didn't want to be spreading his business around."

James spoke. "Look, I trust Dumbledore. He's always looked out for us, and I don't think he'd exaggerate something like this. He's in the Wizengamot, for Merlin's sake. The Ministry. Plus, he beat Grindelwald himself. I'm sure he knows a Dark Wizard when he sees one."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Dumbledore. Well, Dumbledore didn't notice three teenage Animagi running around right under his nose, though, did he?"

"Dumbledore might just have been concerned with matters beyond schoolyard pranks, Padfoot." There was a warning in James' voice that Sirius heeded, if grudgingly.

Peter had to agree with Sirius; Dumbledore's intuition was not enough to go on. Did all Dark Wizards look like Grindelwald? Dumbledore was insanely brilliant—and brilliantly insane, if it came to it—and Peter didn't distrust him, but…

A novel prospect floated across his mind: I don't have to do this.

It was an attractive thought, and he followed its thread.

Just walk away clean. Thanks, but no thanks, Headmaster. Let the others handle this—the righteous blokes willing to go all in for the cause. They're better than me; better fighters, more dedicated, with stuck-out necks ripe for the risking.

While Peter deliberated this, James leaned over to kiss Lily's shoulder. "Are you all right, my love? About Mary?"

Lily shook her head. "No. Not really. But I guess we all need to be prepared to make these kinds of sacrifices now. Even when it's hard—even when it means losing your best friend." Her lip trembled, and she gulped her wine eagerly to hide it.

"She was completely tactless. You definitely didn't deserve that." Dorcas reached out to pat Lily's hand. "And all that about your family, as if you don't care." She tutted softly.

"There's no room in the Order for people who don't take this seriously," Sirius said grimly.

Peter felt his stomach drop for the second time in the last hour. He could walk out now and count on never seeing or speaking to his best friends again, or...he met each of the tired and tense faces. How could he leave them? They were the only friends he had, and his family, if it came down to it. What would he have if he left now?

Nothing.

The kitchen door swung open to reveal Remus, who was looking even paler now. Lily wordlessly offered him a glass of wine, which he took. "Dumbledore left," he shrugged. "He told me to tell you thanks again." He sat heavily next to Peter.

"What did the old man want?" Sirius murmured; he shaved away a few slivers of wood to indicate fur on the dog's back.

"Sirius! What on earth are you doing?!" snapped Lily, apparently noticing the pocketknife for the first time. "Don't you have any respect for other people's property?"

"Not really," Sirius muttered darkly, observing his handiwork. Dorcas nudged his shoulder gently, but said nothing.

"Lily, it's fine," James put a hand over Lily's. ""He lived here, too—that bench is as good as his."

Peter closed his eyes. Oh, Prongs—you've put your foot in it now…

Lily leaned in to James and lowered her voice. "And what am I? A neighbor?"

The only sound for a few moments was the skrtch-skrtch of Sirius's pocketknife. Remus was staring dourly into his wine. Dorcas looked torn; her gray eyes flicked intently from Lily's face to James'.

James inhaled deeply and met Lily's eyes. "Of course not. You know I'm thrilled you're here. It's not really worth—we'll talk about it later, okay?"

Peter glanced sideways at Sirius. His smirk was just visible under his curtain of black hair.

Lily narrowed her eyes at James, but didn't bring it up again. She turned to Remus, her mouth set. "Yes, Remus, what did Dumbledore want?"

Remus glanced up, and quickly averted his eyes. "Oh—er, just wanted to see how I'm doing…since leaving school, and all that." He stared resolutely into his wine. Remus being secretive wasn't unheard of, but he had never been a very good liar. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Sirius watching Remus. He was very still—it reminded Peter of when Sirius sniffed something of interest in his dog form. What scent had he caught?

Lily's steely glare flicked between the pile of wood shavings on the bench, and Sirius' face.

Sirius seemed to sense that it wasn't worth taking the piss, and stood suddenly. "Lark—let's get back, eh?" He stood and reached out to ruffle James' hair again. Dorcas nodded and walked around to kiss Lily goodbye. Sirius jostled Peter's shoulder and patted Moony's head. Sirius is the only person who could get away with patting a werewolf on the head. Peter grinned inwardly.

Lily pursed her lips as she watched them go; Peter saw her draw the inside of her cheek between her teeth. James didn't meet her eyes. After a moment, Remus stood. "I should go, too. Got to get back to the Leaky…"

"You still staying there, mate?" James looked concerned; Remus hadn't transitioned as easily as the others after graduation. "You should really have your own place."

When Remus didn't reply, James did precisely what Peter expected. "Then you should stay here."

Lily looked sideways at James, then flicked her eyes up to Remus, who had paused in the middle of putting on his frayed jacket.

"No, James—I can't impose—"

"Moony, you can't impose when I'm insisting."

Peter thought of Dumbledore's office and James's shameful flush. Dutiful Prongs, Peter thought. Head Boy Potter.

Remus tied on his scarf, looking uneasy, but also unwilling to reject the offer. "Let me go back for tonight and get my stuff. I'll just take one of the spare rooms on the other side of the house. But only for a little while—I'll be out by the end of the summer. I promise." He nodded at Lily, who wasn't looking at him. She was tapping her forefinger on the stem of her wine glass and didn't look terribly pleased with this arrangement. It seemed Lily was starting to realize that marrying one meant inheriting the other three.