"Are you ready to go, Guin?"

Guinevere grunts to acknowledge Lily's question as she ties a fabric headband into her chestnut brown hair.

The two friends are dressed in their casual clothes, as is normal for students on a Friday night. Guinevere is wearing her favorite white jumper under mustard colored overalls and flat shoes that will hopefully make no noise while she stalks around the corridors.

Lily opts to pull her long auburn locks back into a ponytail so it won't get in her way, as well as wearing high waisted trousers and a simple white peasant blouse; something practical that she can run in if need be. Guinevere hopes it won't come to that, but she won't easily forget that night when she had to make a mad dash to the dorms to escape Mulciber.

"Before we leave, I have to ask again, are you sure about this?" Lily asks.

Guinevere nods and tucks her wand into the pocket of her overalls.

"Positive."

Lily nods her understanding and tucks her own wand into the back pocket of her trousers. She still doesn't seem thrilled by the idea, but she's determined to go along out of pure loyalty and stubbornness.

"Fine, but if I think you're in danger, I'm alerting a professor," she warns.

Guinevere gulps. She's not sure whose wrath she should fear more; those Slytherin boys', or Lily's. She just prays that their little excursion will go off without a hitch.

The two sneak out of their dorm easily enough. No one is in the common room at this hour, and there's certainly no one out of bed. Except Guinevere, of course, who can never mind her own business.

A little voice in her head that sounds eerily like Lily asks her why she's doing this when she could just curl up in bed and get a good night's sleep. She has a Quidditch game tomorrow, for Merlin's sake! She needs to be well rested and not hexed by some pureblood supremacists for getting caught spying. She's seen those boys whip up some nasty hexes that she'd rather not be on the receiving end of.

The two of them are already shuffling down the stairs as quietly as possible. It's too late for Guinevere to change her mind. So she takes a deep breath and tells herself to be brave.

You're a Gryffindor, she tells herself. So act like it.

She tip-toes down the main corridor with Lily following behind her. Or, at least, she thinks Lily is following behind her. The other girl is so good at making her footfalls silent that Guinevere can't hear her even if she strains her ears. She briefly wonders if her friend has prior experience with sneaking around the castle when she wasn't supposed to.

No, she decides. Lily wouldn't risk her detention-free record for something so trivial.

Than again, here she is, risking it right now. All to keep Guinevere out of trouble.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

As they turn down another corridor, nearing the potions classroom, Guinevere's mind begins racing with all possibilities she had not yet considered. What if they aren't meeting in that spot again? What if they chose to meet in the library, or the charms classroom, or even the Forbidden Forest? Or what if they did meet in the potions classroom, but they already left? Or perhaps they haven't even gotten there yet?

Lily must sense Guinevere's worry, because she reaches out and squeezes her shoulder. She places her hand on top of Lily's in a sign of gratitude. Though she didn't want her to come in the first place, she's immensely grateful that she has her best friend's support.

And if worst comes worst, Lily knows a wicked knee-reversal hex that is sure to slow their opponents down.

The nearer she gets to the entrance of the potions classroom, the easier it becomes for Guinevere to make out voices coming from inside. Each of them are distinct and familiar, but she's still too far away to make out any words.

She turns around to glance at Lily, who gives her a nod to show she can hear the voices too.

Moving slowly and carefully, they both begin to step closer to the classroom. Guinevere wonders how long ago they got there. Is their little meeting already nearing a close? Is it too late?

She presses her body against the cold brick wall, as close as physically possible. It digs into her flesh, prickling her cheek painfully. The soft fibers of her jumper cling to the grainy brick as if it wants to pull her in. She doesn't care about the pain. In order to hear their words clearly, she needs to be right at the door.

"… will it hurt?" a timid voice asks. Guinevere recognizes it as Regulus's.

When she heard him and his "friends" talking last, he seemed less than enthused about whatever it was he was agreeing to. She remembers how his face drained of color. There were deep-set bags under his dull eyes, yet he seemed wide awake with fear.

From the sound of his voice now, she can assume he doesn't feel any different than he did a few days before.

"Of course it will hurt," another voice snaps. "But it doesn't last long, and the lasting benefits far outweigh the pain."

"But how do I get it?" Regulus asks again. "Who… administers it?"

'It'? What is 'it'?

A far more haughty sounding voice chimes in,

"Only the Dark Lord himself can mark you. He was the one who created the spell."

Guinevere whips her head around to look at Lily, who stares back at her with her lips set in a grim line.

They've both heard of Voldemort's followers calling him "the Dark Lord". Guinevere always scoffed at the title. He's no Lord; he's just a pathetic, power hungry wizard with an inflated sense of self-worth. There's little difference between him and muggle cult leaders who use similar titles to trick others into thinking they're important.

But it seems these boys are embracing their so called "Dark Lord" whole-heartedly. Foolishly so, in Guinevere's opinion.

"How does this mark work, exactly? Why do I need it?"

Guinevere begrudgingly admits to herself that she's rather impressed with the amount of questions Regulus is throwing at them. His tone is no longer fearful, but confident. She'd even wager that he's a bit skeptical of this so called "mark". It's unlike what she's seen from people like Avery or the Rosier siblings, who will follow the ideals of a mad man with blind loyalty. If she didn't know any better, she'd guess he was a Ravenclaw based on his thirst for knowledge.

"Are you questioning the Dark Lord's reasons?" one of them snaps.

Guinevere rolls her eyes. It's probably Mulciber; he's the human exemplification of "blind loyalty".

"Now, it's only fair to let the boy know what he's getting into. After all, the mark will never go away."

Guinevere feels Lily grab her hand and squeeze tightly. She looks back at her best friend. Lily's jaw is clenched, her eyes looking straight past Guinevere. The normally bright emerald eyes are stormy and preoccupied. She knows there's only explanation for her friend acting this way.

That's Severus Snape's voice.

"It acts in a way similar to a Protean Charm," Snape explains. "It connects you with the Dark Lord. He can use the mark to call on you whenever he requires your presence. It is a high honor to carry the mark, Black. Only those he trusts will remain loyal to him are allowed to bear his mark."

"When would I receive it?"

"Over winter break," Snape answers. "Attempting to summon the Dark Lord while we're on Hogwarts grounds would cause too many… complications."

Another boy clears his throat, a sign that it's time to speed the process up.

"So, Black, you still haven't given us an answer. Do you accept the Dark Lord's offer or not?"

Silence fills the classroom, spilling out into the corridor. It's suffocating. All Guinevere can hear is the sound of herself and Lily breathing in unison. Both are fighting to keep their breaths as soft as possible, despite their racing hearts.

For a few glorious seconds, Guinevere imagines that Regulus is going to say no, I don't want to join that madman.

He's the brother of Sirius Black, after all. Sirius, who is best friends with two half-bloods and a notorious blood traitor. Sirius, who has never looked at her or Lily like they're scum underneath his feet merely because they were born to muggle parents. Sirius, who is so firm in his convictions that he could face down Voldemort himself and not change his mind.

Surely he must have rubbed off on his little brother, right?

All her hopes shatter mere seconds later when she hears a single word softly whispered,

"Yes."

She wants to scream.

It's an urge she hasn't felt in a long time. Usually, she is mild-mannered and non-confrontational, even timid at times. But she feels an anger bubbling up in her stomach like nothing she's ever felt before. It travels up her chest and into her throat, threatening to burst out of her mouth. She can't stop the tears that gather in the corner of her eyes. They're the hot, angry kind of tears that burn like a potion being splashed in her eyes. She just wants to know why.

Why does Voldemort believe she should die for having two very loving muggle parents? And more importantly, why do people like these boys believe him?

Lily pulls on her hand, silently telling her that it's time for them to go. Guinevere wants to protest for reasons even she can't understand. Some sort of dark curiosity glues her to her spot. She wants some sort of answer that will satisfy her, though she knows deep down that this won't happen. She wants to be given a reason why.

However, Lily is stronger than she looks. She drags Guinevere as hard as she can, nearly causing her to fall over. Guinevere shoots her a glare, but begins to walk back with her regardless.

The two walk back to the dormitory in complete silence and go straight to bed when they get back. They don't talk about what they heard, and Guinevere has no plans to bring it up with her in the future.


Like every morning before a Quidditch game, Guinevere wakes up an hour before breakfast to get dressed. But this morning, that's not the only reason why she's awake at this hour.

After she pulls on her Quidditch uniform, she sits on a couch in the common room and waits. People trickle in from their dorms slowly, stumbling their way out the door in a mad dash to get food. Guinevere scrutinizes the students as they pass by, looking for her target.

As always, the Marauders exit their dorm in a group. James seems to be the only one awake and alert out of them all, and that's most likely entirely due to the excitement of the Quidditch game. Otherwise, he'd probably look as dead on his feet as his best friends.

"C'mon, boys, look alive!" he says with a spring in his step.

"Shut it, Prongs," Remus grunts, rubbing his eyes.

Guinevere gets up off the couch and approaches the boys, blocking their way to the exit. James gives her a curious look.

"Driscoll? Is something wrong? You know we have a-,"

"Quidditch game later, I know," Guinevere finishes for him. "I just need to borrow Black for a few minutes, if you all don't mind."

James, Peter, and Remus all share a knowing smirk that irritates Guinevere to no end. What do they think she's going to do? Snog Sirius before a game for good luck?

The Marauders step aside, leaving a very confused Sirius standing there, staring back at Guinevere.

"Of course," James replies.

"Just don't injure him," Remus adds.

"Not severely, at least," Peter amends.

"And remember that his curfew is midnight at the latest," James says.

Guinevere holds her hand up to stop them.

"Boys, you don't want to be late for breakfast, do you?"

The three of them look at each, having a silent discussion that Guinevere isn't privy to. They do this often when actual words aren't an option, such as during a class or when they have a secret to keep. The mental connection between the boys is just as strong as Guinevere's own connection to Lily, if not stronger. It astounds her sometimes.

"See you at the game, Driscoll," James says. "Be prepared!"

Guinevere rolls her eyes, but can't stop herself from cracking a tiny grin. James's enthusiasm for Quidditch is unparalleled.

"Will do, captain."

He gives her that Hogwarts famous Potter smile and hurries Remus and Peter out the door. That leaves Guinevere and Sirius behind, staring straight at each other. The latter looks thoroughly confused.

"As much as I enjoy your company, Gwen-Of-Air, I was on my way to-,"

She cuts him off by grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the stairs. He stumbles and gives a grunt of surprise at her sudden aggressiveness. Nevertheless, he follows her without protest as she drags him towards his dorm. Her own is occupied by three very sleepy girls who wouldn't appreciate the intrusion, and it's well known that the Marauders all share a room. No one will interrupt them.

She storms into their room and drops Sirius's hand. She must not have noticed how tightly she was holding on, because when she looks at her knuckles, the color is just starting to return to them.

The first thing in the room that her eyes fall on is a turntable record player sitting on the nightstand of the bed across from the door. Several well-loved record sleeves are scattered about on top of the record player and leaning against the wall. They're all muggle bands and singers that Guinevere recognizes well. From just a quick glance, she spots records from Queen, The Rolling Stones, and David Bowie.

Lots of David Bowie.

"This is the second time you've dragged me off somewhere," Sirius points out. "A bedroom this time, Gwen-Of-Air? You're getting bold."

She rolls her eyes.

"Sirius, I have something important to tell you and I need you to listen to me without any interruptions."

He blinks at her. In just a few seconds, his entire demeanor changes. The joking smirk slips off his face and his lips re-shape themselves into a thin line. His grey eyes narrow slightly and his spine straightens.

"Go on," he urges.

She takes a deep breath.

"Your brother is going become one of Voldemort's followers," she blurts out.

Guinevere swears she sees something pass behind his eyes, along with a violent twitch of his jaw, but he swallows hard and transforms his face back into the mask it was before.

"There's this mark of sorts that Voldemort uses to connect his followers and some other students have already gotten it. It's permanent and only Voldemort himself can give it to someone, but it's only given to his most trusted inner circle. Snape said that Regulus will get it over Christmas break so there's still time for you to-,"

"Driscoll."

She bites down on her tongue to stop herself from rambling further. She's given Sirius the general overview. He just doesn't want her to drone on now that he has more than enough information to stop this from happening. Yes, that's it.

"I don't care what my brother does."

She takes a step back.

Out of all the answers he could have given her, that was the last one she expected.

"What do you mean you don't care what he does?" she hisses. "He's your brother!"

Her hands curl up into fists at her side as she glares daggers at him. She's felt many things while around Sirius; anger, annoyance, sadness, sympathy, and even joy. But she's never felt disgust as she does now.

His clenched jaw twitches again. Otherwise, his face is hard and unyielding as stone.

"You know nothing about my family," he snaps. "My parents raised Reg and I to be pureblood fanatics just like them. It never took with me, but it's not my fault it took with him. It's not my responsibility to change him."

The scream she felt building up in her the night before is once again crawling up her chest and seizing her throat. She bites down on the inside of her cheek to tame it.

"But he's still your family! Don't you think you should at least try to get through to him? If it was a member of my family, I would-,"

Sirius cuts her off with a barking laugh. Her ire rises even more. If there's one thing she hates, it's being laughed at during an argument. She despises the dismissiveness of it, as if she isn't an equal force to be reckoned with.

"I'm not fool enough to think talking to him would change a damn thing," he says coldly. "They're all absolutely batty, the entire lot of 'em. I've barely spoken to Reg in years. The last time he even glanced my way was the day I left to go live with the Potters in 5th year. Mum was just thrilled to have an excuse to disown me. In her mind, I stopped being her son the minute the sorting hat shouted "GRYFFIDNOR!"."

Guinevere had opened her mouth to yell back at him, but when her anger wanes enough to allow her to process his words, she falters. She tries to imagine an eleven year old Sirius, bright and excitable with a mop of curly dark hair and mischievous eyes, waiting for a letter from home for months and months and never receiving one. She can't even imagine how crushing that would be to her now, much less as a young girl.

"I'm sure you'd help your family out in a pinch. But I'm not like you, Driscoll. As far as I'm concerned, Reg is a stranger."

He turns on his heels walks right out, leaving the door open and Guinevere standing there, watching his back as he retreats.


The Quidditch match this morning is Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff.

Based on Hufflepuff's performance in their game with Slytherin earlier in the week, James has expressed his confidence that the Gryffindor team has the upper-hand in this game. The only thing the Hufflepuff team really has going for them this season is their new beaters. They're apparently vicious in where they aim their bludgers and sent a Slytherin chaser to the hospital wing for a week. Otherwise, they're woefully underprepared.

The confident grin on James's face as both sides mount their brooms makes Guinevere even more determined to win this game. She wouldn't be able to bear the disappointment on her teammates' faces, especially James. They're so sure they have an easy game ahead of them.

She needs to push all thoughts of her fight with Sirius out of her head. Any distraction could mean the difference between a victory or a crushing defeat.

The quaffle is thrown up.

And so the game begins.

The game begins on a good note when none of the Hufflepuff chasers are able to steal the quaffle. James grabs the it before Guinevere or anyone else is able, so she flies behind him to act as a defense against any Hufflepuffs attempting to steal it. He leans forward on his broom and begins racing towards the goal with Guinevere following behind far enough to give him space, but close enough to intercept any interference.

She'd like to see anyone attempt to take the quaffle from him. When James is playing Quidditch, he's dangerous.

On James's right side, Guinevere spots one of the Hufflepuff beaters preparing to hit an oncoming bludger their way. The beater is a rather brutish looking boy with squinty eyes and beefy arms that look like they could hit a bludger past the stands and into the Black Lake. She instantly knows that this was the beater who put a Slytherin in the hospital wing for a week.

"Beater on your right!" Guinevere yells loud enough for James to hear.

James whips his head in the beater's direction, seconds before his bat comes in contact with the bludger. James and Guinevere both duck just in time. The bludger passes right over James's head, just barely grazing the messy brown hair sticking up one the back of his head.

However, the third Gryffindor chaser isn't so lucky. The bludger flies far enough to hit him in the shoulder, sending him spiraling out of control. His height is the only thing that saves him from a blow to the head.

The bastard was aiming for James's head.

Rumors of their viciousness did them no justice.

Guinevere flies ahead of James, opening her arms. Passing the quaffle back and forth may be a way to slow the beaters down. Moving targets are far harder to hit.

James seems to get the message. He tosses the quaffle in Guinevere's direction.

Guinevere sees it all in slow motion:

The quaffle leaves James's hands.

It flies through the sky towards her open arms.

James looks over Guinevere's shoulder.

His face drops.

He shouts something at her she can't quite understand.

What feels like a few minutes is actually only a few seconds.

As the quaffle lands in Guinevere's arms, a bludger slams into her right shoulder with a sickening crack. She starts to fall forward.

A mad panic seizes Guinevere when she feels her body slipping away from her broom. All her Quidditch training goes out the window in favor of her survival instincts. She drops the quaffle and makes a desperate attempt to curl her body up and grab ahold of her broom, but it's too late. Her feet are already slipping off.

Her arms are flailing desperately in a failed attempt to stop from falling. A feeling of complete and utter helplessness fills her, tying her stomach up into knots. It's a terrifying thing to watch the ground become closer and closer while knowing there's absolutely nothing she can do to stop it. Her heart is beating so fast that she doesn't know what will kill her first; cracking her head open on the ground or getting cardiac arrest while in mid-air.

Her only solace comes from losing consciousness before she can hit the ground.


A/N: I know I keep leaving authors notes lately and I'm not usually keen on that, yet here I am. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, which happens to be my longest one. I actually had a lot of trouble writing it. I knew what I wanted to happen but the words weren't coming to me for some reason. But I hope you enjoyed! And as always, I encourage reviews. :)