DISCLAIMER
Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon, and Harry Potter to J.K. Rowling. No money is being made from this story which is purely written for mine, and others, entertainment.

25 May

"You have been trying to see me, Severus," the Dark Lord expressed, bored.

"For many days now, my Lord," Snape nodded, and quickly kneeled in front of the Dark Lord's chair. "But you have been indisposed."

Red eyes blazed. "I decide when I am available for my followers, not the other way around. Do not presume otherwise."

"Of course, my Lord," Snape said hurriedly and the Dark Lord sneered.

"Why this sudden adamant need to meet with me?" He finally asked. "The attack on the Quidditch game was a success, or so you told me. Unless you forgot to mention something." His tone of voice was threatening.

Snape gulped. "The attack was, indeed, a great victory, my Lord," he agreed. "But I did forget to mention something I observed during it."

"You make me tire of you, Severus," the Dark Lord snapped, standing up from his chair, towering above the still kneeling Potions-genius. "This is your second mistake, the first being your underestimation of that Summers girl. I am not known for handing out second chances."

"I apologise, my Lord, but this has to do with her," Severus said quickly. I am hoping what I have discovered will compensate for my past misstep."

"Nothing can make up for a mistake already made," Voldemort said, bored. "But please, continue. If what you have to say is interesting enough, it may lessen your debt."

Lowering his head in submission, Snape began to speak: "During the Quidditch game, I was able to see Summers fight from my vantage point in the air." He paused. "Her fighting skills were, I must admit, incredible."

"There are many incredible witches and wizards out there, Severus," the Dark Lord stated. "And unfortunately, not all of them are on our side. What you have just told me is nothing I had not already figured out: After all, to survive an attack made by four vampires, directed at her specifically, she must be a very good witch."

"But that's just it, my Lord," Snape said, onyx eyes shining. "She isn't. She is a mediocre witch, at best."

"You underestimated her once before, Severus," Voldemort thundered. "And yet you stand by what you said then? That she is not anything special?"

"You misunderstand me," Snape hurriedly said, and Voldemort's eyes narrowed. He, the most intelligent, powerful man in the Wizarding World, misunderstanding Snape? Was the man a complete twat? "She is less than average when it comes to magic...but not when it comes to fighting."

"I must admit you have lost me," Voldemort sneered. "How can she fight well if she is horrible at magic? Has the sun addled your brains, Snape?"

"She fights like a muggle, my Lord!" Snape exclaimed. "Physically; not with magic. She didn't even use her wand, and from the way she moved, I believe she has been in battle before. She was used to it. It...it wasn't natural."

The Dark Lord's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but quickly rearranged his expression to one of neutrality. "I see," he said, now very interested in the mystery that was Buffy Summers.

Who was she? Or...what was she?

"Thank you for this information, Severus. It has been...invaluable."

A smug grin appeared on Snape's face.

"And yet...you should have told me this immediately after you returned after the attack. And I tire of your impudence. CRUCIO!"

The Dark Lord stared dispassionately as the former Slytherin writhed on the floor under the Unforgivable, pain wracking his thin frame.

"Leave me," he ordered a few seconds later, after lifting the curse. "And send in Avery. I wish to speak with him."

Snape slowly and painstakingly rose and made a bow in his direction, and then quickly left the summoning chamber. A minute later, Avery Senior arrived, head held high, a neutral expression on his face. "You summoned me, my Lord."

"Indeed." Voldemort hissed. "I am pleased to see you arrive promptly, when requested."

"Always, master," Avery swore, bowing low. "I am one of your most loyal."

Voldemort smiled. "And I do not doubt you. You are, undeniably, one of the few I can really trust."

"You honour me with your confidence, my Lord," Avery said smoothly, a small, smile gracing his face.

"If only more of my Death Eaters were as reliable," Voldemort's eyes glinted. "Now, what can you tell me of your meetings with Lupin?" Voldemort asked.

"Not much, my Lord," Avery senior said regretfully. "Though I have continued to meet with the werewolf as requested, I cannot say any progress is being made. As we suspected, it is becoming more obvious that he is trying to play us, pretending to feel for our cause in order to get information. He has become very...inquiring, lately, digging for details of our activities, both past and future."

"A pity," the Dark Lord tapped long fingers against his armrest. "While I never believed he would join us, if he had, he would have been a great asset. You have not told him anything of importance, I trust?"

"Of course not, my Lord," Avery assured him. "I have told him little can be revealed unless he decides to join us and take the mark, for obvious security reasons."

"And his response?"

"Evasive, but diplomatic," Avery answered. "He is a very good actor; quite slippery in a way that many Slytherins can only hope to achieve."

"Stop arranging the meetings," Voldemort commanded after some thought. "Our goal has already been reached by letting Black overhear one of your conversations: sufficient doubt regarding his friend's loyalties should have been planted. I have better uses for you than a mission with no progress. Lupin's actual loyalty would have been a nice bonus, but we always knew it was unlikely. Let Lupin come to us – give him the initiative, and let us see if he takes it. If that is the case – make it clear that the only way he will be given anything is if he agrees to take my mark. If he doesn't agree – kill him."

"And if he doesn't try to make contact, my Lord?"

"Leave him be," Voldemort requested after a small amount of silence, thinking of Severus' message regarding the strange abilities of the Summers girl. She was...intriguing, and he was determined to either have her on his side, or her head on a platter. Either way, he could use Lupin for it to happen. "If we kill him, our efforts in planting doubt within Black – and by extension, the rest of Dumbledore's Order – would be for naught. And I might have further uses for him."

"As you wish, my Lord."

28 May

"James! Sirius! Can I have your attention for a couple of minutes?" Frank Longbottom waved in James' and Sirius' direction, and the two Aurors stopped exchanging spells to turn their attention to their superior.

"Frank," James greeted, wiping away some sweat from his forehead. "Did we do the drills wrong?"

Frank chuckled. "Far from it. You and Sirius are the two best duellists from all the new recruits, no competition. I wanted to ask you a favour, actually."

"Shoot," Sirius said, and Frank frowned at him.

"Pardon?"

"Shoot," Sirius repeated. "It means 'go ahead.' American slang. Buffy taught me."

"Alright..." Frank said slowly, chuckling. "Anyway, you know the Auror force is spread pretty thin these days, and the quality on the majority of the recruits is...well, let's just say they're not what one could wish for, considering most of them are those we rejected in the round of testing you two went through." He sighed. "If only more had survived the attacks on London and Plymouth, things would be very different..."

"Things are what they are," James said.

"Quite," Frank agreed. "Well, my point is, we have begun accepting applicants year-round, and the tests are not nearly as thorough as most of us would wish...but desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose," he said. "There has even been some talk of lowering the standard years of training from three down to two – I don't know if you've heard?"

James and Sirius shook their heads.

"Well, it's just talk as of yet," Frank said. "In any case, that has not much to do with what I came to speak to you about. As I said, the Aurors are spread pretty thin, and we are unable to dedicate as much time training the recruits as before, especially not when new ones show up regularly."

He looked over the large room, inspecting the Auror trainees as they went through their drills almost absently. "I've been speaking to some of the more promising Aurors in training from your recruitment group – Proudfoot, Nolan, Ackerly, and a few others – about them taking one or two new recruits under their wing. I was hoping you two would do the same. But it's a large responsibility; time consuming, and your own training may suffer for it. But then again, maybe not - It is said one of the best ways to learn is to teach it to others, after all."

James and Sirius looked at each other. "We'll do it," James said, for both of them.

Frank looked relieved. "Excellent."

"Who do you want us to train?" Sirius asked.

"It's actually an old classmate of yours," Frank said, and James' eyes widened in sudden understanding. Frank shot him a look. "I see you already suspect?"

"Is it Nick?" James asked. "Nick Vandom?" Frank nodded. "With all due respect, Frank," James said hesitantly, "I don't think he's Auror material. You know what happened to his girlfriend? I fear the reason he joined is because of – "

" - Revenge," Frank finished for him. "I'm more than aware of that. And if there wasn't a war out there, Nick, in all likelihood wouldn't have been accepted, at least not without him being cleared by a mind Healer first. Unfortunately, James, the department can no longer afford to dismiss people who want to be Aurors for such reasons only: there are too few of us. I'm doing what I can by putting both of you in charge of him – I'm hoping, that by putting him with friends, perhaps you can help him more than someone who would just be focused on training him for battle."

Sirius and James nodded. "Well, we'll do our best, of course," James sighed.

3 June

"You look ill," Lucan commented, sitting down beside his friend in Ravenclaw's common room. Mandy looked particularly stressed out: her hair was a mess and she had dark circles beneath her eyes, which seemed reddish, and her nose was swollen.

"Danks for doticing de obvious," Mandy commented, sniffing as she blew her nose in a tissue. "I have a cold."

Lucan placed a hand on her forehead, frowning as he felt how warm it felt. "And a fever. You should go to Madame Pomfrey," he advised. "She'll make you feel better."

Mandy shook her head. "I don't have tibe," she wheezed out through her stuffed nose in a hoarse voice, couching slightly. "I must study for by dwets. Dis Artidmancy equation is baking be crazy, and I haven't even started writing by speech for the Graduation cerebony yet."

"It will only take a minute," Lucan insisted, pulling her to her feet. "And then you can return to both your studies and preparing your speech." As the Head Girl, one of Mandy's duties was to make a speech at the Graduation ceremony along with the Head Boy, like James and Lily had done the year before. Unfortunately, Mandy had no idea what to say.

"I'm busy," Mandy snapped hoarsely.

"Do you want me to sick Belinda on you?" Lucan threatened. "She can be vicious."

Mandy glared and threw him a rude sign. "I'll go see Badabe Pomfrey later," she said. "I bromise."

Lucan sighed at his best friend's stubbornness. "The sooner you go see her and begin the treatment for your cold and fever, the sooner you'll be back to be your normal, healthy, annoying self. It will only get worse if you delay things. And you don't want to be ill on Graduation, do you? Not to mention, our NEWT exams begin tomorrow – if you're this bad then, you won't be able to concentrate."

That did the trick. Mandy stood up, swaying slightly and Lucan quickly grabbed her arm. "You're a bery good friend, Luke," Mandy slurred suddenly, blinking tiredly, as the two made their way towards the Ravenclaw entrance, Mandy half-stumbling. After their disagreement about the war almost two months before, neither Lucan nor Mandy had brought it up again, and things had gone back to normal between them.

Well, almost.

There was a new wall between them because they knew they felt differently about the conflict going on outside Hogwarts. As Graduation grew closer, Mandy felt the wall become bigger and bigger, and she was afraid she would lose Lucan as a friend when they left school. However, it was only now, while ill, slightly delirious with fever, that she was able to express it. "Albays be by friend."

"Of course I'll always be your friend," Lucan told her, sighing, as they slowly began to walk down the spiralling staircase leading from Ravenclaw tower down to the fifth floor. "What brings this on?"

"Dothing," Mandy sniffed. "I'll biss you after Graduation, dat's all."

"I'll miss you too, M," Lucan smiled slightly. "But we'll still see each other."

"Bromise?"

"I promise."

9 June

"Bombarda!" Nick snapped out, and the female Auror recruit, Nancy Winters, he was duelling against threw herself to the side, the spell only missing her by a hair's breadth. She stared at Nick with wide, fearful eyes.

"Merlin, Nick!" James, who had been observing the exercise a few feet away, snapped, stalking forward, hazel eyes angry. "Take it easy! This is practice, not the real thing!"

"Well, how are we supposed to prepare for the real thing if we are only allowed to use first year spell-work?" Nick snapped back sourly.

"Now you're exaggerating," Sirius said through narrowed eyes, coming to stand beside his best friend. "No one is stopping you from using more dangerous spells – just try to avoid the lethal ones, will you? And perhaps use a little less force. You're duelling a fellow Auror, not a Death Eater. If that spell had struck, you could have seriously injured her."

Nick pursed his lips and turned to Nancy, forcing himself to smile at her. "I'm sorry, Nancy," he said through gritted teeth.

"That's alright," Nancy said shakily. "No harm done, after all."

Nancy was one of the more insecure recruits to the Auror force; a former secretary in her late twenties, and to be honest, neither James nor Sirius believed she had the right mentality to be able to become a successful in the field. But, as Frank had said, the Aurors were desperate.

"Are you ready to go again?" Nick asked her shortly, and then turned to James and Sirius. "Unless you have anything further to add?"

The two marauders exchanged looks. Finally, James sighed. "No. Feel free to resume the exercise."

"Good."

James and Sirius backed away, and proceeded to watch as the duel commenced. Nancy seemed to have lost what little faith she had in her own abilities, and Nick seemed bored, clearly playing with her.

"Nancy, you must move around more," Tomas Proudfoot, the Auror trainee in charge of her, yelled. "And don't be afraid to go on the offense as well as defence."

James frowned, not sure if he agreed with that assessment, considering Winters was barely holding her own defensively when Nick wasn't even trying. To tell her to start attacking was a mistake: James very much doubted Nancy had the ability to both defend herself and strike offensively at the same time.

"Proudfoot is a right twit," Sirius muttered, clearly of the same opinion as James.

"Nick, don't forget to use defensive spells as well," James shouted at the former Beater, hoping that the prompt would allow Nancy a better chance to at least hit him once. "A good Auror switches between offense and defence, depending on the situation."

Nick ignored him, and as Nancy stuttered out a half-hearted "Expelliarmus," Nick ducked it easily, and sent off three offensive spells of his own in rapid succession, tired of playing around: "Stupefy! Reducto! Confringo!"

Nancy was able to block the stunning spell, but the following two hit her straight on: the combination of the Reductor curse and blasting curse knocked her backwards, smashed her ribs into pieces and one of the bone fragments pierced her lungs.

Sirius, James and Tomas ran forward, along with several other Aurors who had seen it happen. Nick stared at Nancy's still form with an expression of utter horror on his rapidly paling face. "We need a Healer here, NOW!" Alice Longbottom shouted, while she cast a consignment of emergency healing spells on her, usually meant to keep Aurors in the field alive until they could be brought to a hospital.

"She has stopped breathing!" Proudfoot exclaimed, as two Healers came running, quickly kneeling by Nancy's body.

Suddenly, Alastor Moody was there, and he walked forward to Nick, his magical eye swirling widely in its socket.

"I-I didn't mean – I – " Nick stuttered out, his face turning green. "Merlin, I-I am so sorry! I - "

"Save it, lad," Moody said kindly, placing an arm on his shoulder. "What's been done cannot be undone. Let's go to my office and talk with a cuppa, eh? Alice, get Don and Barty for me, will you?"

Alice, who had backed away from Nancy to let the Healers do their work, nodded sadly, and Nick closed his eyes, resigned to his fate. Don Blake, Head of the Aurors, and Barty Crouch, Head of the Department of the Magical Law Enforcement, well known for his viciousness...he was doomed. And he deserved it.

Two men approached a large clearing. One of them, slightly larger, with matted her and whiskers, had a horrible sneer on his face, showing off all of his pointed teeth. The smaller man stared at him in silence, showing no fear, his expression one of determination.

Above them, the full moon rose, and the two men began to transform, their clothes ripping, as bones cracked, skin sprouted fur and the two humans became animals – werewolves.

For several long seconds after the change was done, the two werewolves stared each other down, circling each other in a predatory way. Then, the larger werewolf – a grey line running across the dirty blonde fur on its curved back – pounced. Not even a second later, the smaller werewolf, its fur a golden blonde with silver streaks, leaped up, and the two lycans clashed together in wild fury, right in the centre of the clearing.

The next few minutes were filled with growling and snarling sounds, as the two creatures tore into one another: fur was ripped away from flesh, and flesh from bone, blood being splattered around the fighting creatures, dripping down on the grass. It was impossible to distinguish one lycan from the other.

A flash of light, and the scene changed.

The same man as before – the smaller one, stood in front of a large, beautiful castle. All around him, spells were flying; smoke and explosions appearing where they hit the ground. He seemed to be looking for something – or someone, his lips moving, but no sound was heard coming out, his yells drowned out by the human screams of pain, and the yells of command, being thrown about around him.

Suddenly, the man's face scrunched up in shock and pain, and he looked down at his chest. The reason for his surprise was shown: a silver hand could be seen sticking out of his chest; someone had punched straight through his ribcage, all the way from his back.

The scene changed again. This time, the image showed a man with long dark hair was falling, backwards, into a veil of some kind. He disappeared from view behind almost translucent curtains.

The scene dissolved, and a boy on the verge of adulthood, with messy black hair and green eyes walked forward, approaching a dark mountain which towered up above him, wand gripped tightly in his hand.

The image faded into another – a bright room with a bed could be seen, a man – an older version of the boy from the previous scene – lying still and pale as death on a white bed, his chest barely rising and falling.

A dark figure, with blazing red eyes, raised his wand – a flash of green – and the scene dissolved again, and flashing images appeared in a rapid succession: a book, four rocks of some kind in various shapes, a luminous door made out of shimmering, radiant light, a lightning bold scar, and a dusty looking glass orb, transmitting a dull inner glow coming from within. A whispering, hoarse voice could be heard, repeating two phrases, over and over: 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…' and 'The one with the power to guide the lightning child approaches…'

Buffy woke up with a strangled gasp, panting as what she had just seen. Closing her eyes, she touched a hand to her forehead, noticing her fingers were trembling. A prophetic dream. Dreams, even – there had been so many moments; trying to recall them all made her dizzy, especially since she had near forgotten what it was like to have Slayer visions. She hadn't had one since before she came here.

"Buffy?" Remus mumbled sleepily from beside her. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Buffy said, trying to stop her voice from shaking. "Go back to sleep. I'm going to get some air."

Remus squinted up at her with a worried expression, but finally nodded, and closed his eyes. It was the night before the night of full moon, and he needed his rest, and Buffy was glad: it meant he was in no shape for pushing her to tell her what she'd dreamt.

Standing up from the bed, Buffy exited the bedroom and then the cottage, taking in a deep breath of the cool night air, grateful for the cold seeping into her skin, waking her up, and making it easier to think. She needed a clear head if she was to try and make sense of the dreams.

The first vision had been of Greyback and Remus, both of them older-looking than they were now. The second had been another vision of Remus, standing in front of Hogwarts, which seemed to be the ground for some sort of battle.

Buffy massaged her temples tiredly. It was impossible to tell which moment came first, time-wise: Remus had looked to be about the same age in both visions, but Buffy dearly hoped the second came first. Despite the fact that the first moment involved what seemed to be a possibly deadly confrontation with Greyback, at least it would mean Remus would survive the man with the silver hand… If only she had seen a face – something, anything, more than just that hand. Who did it belong to?

She groaned in frustration. The third scene had been of a much older Sirius. She had no idea where the location was though, or what the veil had been. Had Sirius been falling to his death? She hoped not. In any case, all three of the first visions had clearly been of a distant future. There was nothing she could do about it now, or to prevent it. So why had the Powers sent them to her at all? Was it a warning of what could be? Or what would be? She just didn't know. Her prophetic dreams were fickle, at best, and always open to interpretation.

The fourth vision had been of a younger looking James. Or had it? Buffy frowned. Why would the Powers show her a dream of the past? Closing her eyes, Buffy tried to recall the details of the scene. Her eyes snapped open. Green. James' eyes had been green – the exact shade as Lily's. It hadn't been James at all, Buffy realised… It must have been his son. His and Lily's… This again, meant that moment was years and years into the future, since Lily and James didn't have a son, unless it had miraculously happened overnight. And she didn't recognise the mountain either.

The scene following that one however...that must have been James, unless the Powers had decided to skip forward another twenty years or so, and show his son well into adulthood. Considering his eyes had been closed, it was possible. Either way, James or his son, it didn't matter. What did matter was his status. Had he simply been sleeping, which Buffy hoped, or had he been dying?

Buffy felt like crying. She had no idea what to do about these visions. She had no idea what had led up to the moments she had seen, so other than the apparent jump in time; the ageing, she had nothing to go on. Who was to say it wouldn't be too late to change anything once she got a hint? She sighed. She didn't used to be so negative – or at least she didn't think so.

Biting her lip, Buffy let her mind stray to the final parts of the vision. The dark figure had obviously been Voldemort. Likewise, the flash of green must have been an 'Avada Kedavra' – but who had it been directed at? And more importantly, had it hit its intended target?

The book, Buffy strongly suspected was the book the Order feared Voldemort had in his possession, with all the terrifying knowledge it held at his disposal. Since it had been a part of the vision, it must still have a part to play. She frowned, wishing the Order would have had more luck with researching it and tracking its previous owners down. But as the trail had gotten stone cold rather suddenly, it had been to no avail: clearly, Voldemort had covered his tracks well.

As for the rocks... to be honest, Buffy had no idea why they had been a part of her vision, but they must hold some sort of significance for the future. Then, there were the final three parts of the vision: the door, the scar, and the glass orb, though she didn't know what importance they held. And of course, the rigid voice and the creepy message which sounded an awful lot like parts of a prophecy... That part was the one which interested her the most.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..." Buffy whispered to herself. Obviously, it spoke of someone with the ability to destroy Voldemort. But who? And who was the person that was to guide him or her? She believed the lightning child – which explained the importance of a lightning bolt scar – was also the one able to destroy Voldemort. At least, she hoped so, or things would be even more complicated.

And approaching...what did that mean? Approaching even now? Or yet to come? Though the voice had spoken in present tense, the majority of her dream had been of the very distant future. Therefore, it only made sense that the prophecy she'd heard in her vision hadn't yet been told either.

Buffy felt a sudden sense of despair as she realised this war was meant to drag on for years and years, unless a miracle occurred, or she found a way to shorten it drastically. And how could she do that, if there was a prophecy involved? It wasn't like she could destroy Voldemort herself – she highly doubted she was 'the one' for she didn't have a lightning bolt scar, and she couldn't be called a child either. Of course, the images of Hogwarts as a battle ground could be a fight against someone other than Voldemort, and the prophecy in her dream could speak of another Dark Lord. But how likely was that? And then again, if the prophecy hadn't yet been told, did that mean anyone could destroy Voldemort until the moment it was?

Her shoulders slumped. "Things were so much easier in Sunnydale," she muttered out loud, pouting. "One battle of apocalyptic proportions with its resolution at the end of each school year. If I had stuck around for a little longer, perhaps I even could have marked it down in my calendar as an annual event."

15 June

Mandy stood nervously in the Entrance Hall, fingering her strapless yellow dress, made out of a fine material in a layered design. It was the night of the graduation ball and the Ravenclaw was waiting for Sirius to arrive as her date: the majority of the Graduates were already in the Great Hall. Nervously, she looked up at the large clock above the entrance. He was late. But what else could she expect?

The large doors to the Great Hall opened, and Lucan poked his head out. "Hey, M. Hasn't Sirius arrived yet?"

Mandy shook her head. "You know how he is," she attempted to make light of the situation. "He always has to make an entrance."

Lucan chuckled, then frowned as she saw how pale she was. "Hey, are you alright? I noticed you didn't eat much during dinner."

Mandy smiled weakly. The leaving feast had been that afternoon, though Mandy had been unable to enjoy the meal, too worried about what she was going to say tomorrow at the Graduation ceremony. She had never been a very confident public speaker, and feared her Head Girl speech was filled with clichés. "Just worrying about my speech," she said.

"You'll be fine," Lucan dismissed. "And if the cat gets your tongue, just imagine everyone naked."

"Not helping, Luke," Mandy muttered.

The doors to the castle flew open, and a frazzled looking Sirius appeared, out of breath. "Sorry I'm late!" The marauder apologized, while smoothing down his slightly wrinkled robes. "I got held up at work. You look beautiful."

Mandy smiled at him, too relieved that he was finally here to be angry. "Well, at least you're here now," she said, and Sirius grinned, leaning forward and placing a gentleman's kiss on her hand.

"Of course. I could never stand the Head Girl up, now, could I?" He joked. "Who's Head Boy, by the way?" He asked, as he and Mandy finally entered the Hall, arm in arm, Lucan walking a couple of steps ahead of them, no doubt eager to rejoin his girlfriend. "I know you've told me, but I've forgotten."

"Sam Bryant," Mandy answered, feeling her nervousness regarding her speech return. Sam had no such problems – he was a Gryffindor, and on top of that Beater for the Quidditch team, and as such, used to the attention.

Sirius nodded appreciatively. "Always nice to see a fellow Gryffindor – not to mention a former teammate – on the spot." Noticing her nervousness, he stopped and turned to give her a concerned look. Coincidentally (or perhaps not – you could never know with Sirius, after all), he had paused right in the middle of the decorated Great Hall. The two immediately became the centre of attention, as the students noticed Sirius' presence. He was one of few dates not presently a Hogwarts student accompanying a graduate. And a marauder, on top of that. "Hey, are you alright?"

"Just slightly nervous about what I'm going to say tomorrow," Mandy admitted quietly.

"You'll do great," Sirius told, her swirling her around in his arms as music was struck up by the Wizarding band hired for the night. "I'll be in the crowd, remember. And if you get jittery, just look at me and imagine me naked," he shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the whole Wizarding World. Mandy couldn't help it; she burst out laughing. "What?"

"I'm sorry, you just sounded so serious – no pun intended," Mandy said between snorts. "And it was a variation of Lucan's advice, that he gave me before, only he told me to imagine everyone naked."

Sirius scoffed. "Now why would you want to do that?" He asked. "I'm plenty enough for your viewing pleasure, aren't I?"

Mandy smiled broadly as he turned her around in another spin. "I love you," she said, and Sirius grinned back cheekily.

"Of course you do. I'm Sirius Black!"

Mandy smacked his chest.

16 June

Mandy's face was chalk white after she accepted her diploma from the Headmaster and had shaken the hands of all of her professors. Since her last name began with a W, she was among the last people in her year to accept the diploma. As such, there was no need for her to return to her seat since she was to hold her speech in a few seconds.

"Now, I hand over the word to our Head Boy and Head Girl, Sam Bryant and Mandy Walker," Dumbledore said, as the last student to accept his diploma retook his seat, but Mandy barely heard him. Sam walked up to stand at her side, throwing her a concerned look.

"Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore," Sam said, being the first to speak, "for seven wonderful years. Today, we leave Hogwarts," he continued. "And an era. A large part of our lives is over, and while we physically leave this castle behind, we will carry it with us in our memory. Our days at Hogwarts have been filled with so many things, and it is difficult to believe we are sure to experience a lot more, just in a different way. Today, we leave a sanctuary behind, and tomorrow, we enter a world which is a little less safe; a little less innocent, but no less beautiful. For it is the Wizarding World – our world, and I am proud to be a part of it. It is up to us now to make sure it remains beautiful, so that future generations can also appreciate it, and come to love it, as I have."

During Sam's speech, the haze on Mandy's mind faded away, and she was left clear-headed. Looking at Sirius (and not imagining him naked), and her friends, she felt a sudden calmness come over her as she saw his wide grin. The speech she had prepared seemed wrong all of sudden, too formal, and, impulsively, the words she began to speak became something else entirely.

"I am graduating today among friends," she began, not knowing where the words had come from, only that they felt right. "Family. We come from different backgrounds, and for seven years, we have belonged to different Houses, but we have all been a part of something great - a part of Hogwarts history. We have grown up here, together, and as we leave today, we do it together. I will always remember all of you, and look back on my time here with fondness. A part of me will always belong to Hogwarts. And we will always belong to each other, because together, we are the Graduating class of 1979."

Mandy smiled, looking out over her fellow graduates, all staring up at her with solemn expressions, perhaps sensing the importance of this moment – their graduation. There would be no such thing as prejudice today, and no scorn over different beliefs or plans for the future: today, their houses and their backgrounds didn't matter. "Congratulations," she said. "And good luck!"

"Ah, Monsieur de Mort," Madame Maxine greeted the stern looking pureblood. "You must be very proud of your daughter today, is it not so?"

"Indeed, Headmistress," Philippe de Mort said, glancing over at his daughter. Eliza was standing with two of her best friends: Sophie and Audrey. A scowl appeared on his face when Julie, another best friend of Eliza's, walked up to them. He did not like Eliza's association with the muggleborn girl, and likely, he never would. But considering the death of Eliza's mother, he decided to let it go. And it wouldn't do to make a scene in public, of course. "It was a beautiful Graduation ceremony," he praised instead. "Très bon."

The Beauxbatons Headmistress practically swelled up with pride. "Merci. I must admeet I was surprised at 'ow dedicated Mademoiselle Eliza was to her coursework this year. Elle a été très focalisée."

"Hmm. Let's hope it shows in her grades," Philippe commented. "It's about time she applied herself, though I fear it is far too late."

"You should 'ave more faith in your daughter, Monsieur," the Headmistress scolded lightly.

"I will," Phillipe said. "When she proves herself capable of more than earning herself detentions left and right."

Madama Maxine frowned, but said nothing to defend her student – former student, now. Instead, she made a light joke: "Dat, at least you do not 'ave to fear, Philippe. No more école, no more detentions."

"That only leaves me free to fear everything else, instead." Blue eyes sharpened. "Eliza has always managed to find ways to get herself dragged into trouble."

"Oh, your papa looks angry," Julie commented as she hugged her dark haired friend.

"That's nothing new. He always looks angry," Audrey joked, as Eliza looked over towards her father, who was conversing with Madame Maxine, and, indeed, shooting a frowning look in their direction.

"Audrey!" Eliza scolded, though inwardly, she agreed with her friend.

"What?" Audrey exclaimed. "Are you denying it? One would think he could at least be happy on his daughter's graduation day."

Eliza sighed. "He is. He is just not very good at showing emotions."

"Joyful ones, you mean," Audrey said. "Anyway, let's not talk more of Eliza's father, please." Her eyes twinkled. "After all, we have graduated. No more school! I plan to bask in that knowledge for as long as possible. Il est merveilleux!"

"Likewise," Sophie echoed. "And then, I am going to marry a fine, rich gentleman from Paris, and we shall live on the French Riviera in a grand house, have one-and-half children, a Labrador, and House-Elves to serve my every need!" She grinned widely.

"You certainly don't hold low expectations," Julie laughed. "As for me, I'm going to take each day as it comes. Et vous, Eliza?"

For a long moment, Eliza was silent. She had told no one of her plans for after Graduation, and now when the day was finally here, she felt freer than she had in a long time. But also frightened. While anger at her mother's murderer had kept her fueled, it had faded during the course of the school year.

Headmaster Dumbledore had been right – revenge was never a good motivation for anything. And as her thirst for vengeance faded, a fierce determination to help other people had taken its place, for the right reasons.

It might be Britain's war…but if Voldemort won, it was only a matter of time before he turned his attention to France, and then the rest of Europe. And as the war raged, more families would be destroyed, like hers had been, and Eliza did not want to see that happen.

"I am going to move to England," she finally said resolutely, ignoring the way her friends' eyes all widened in shocked surprise, and not a little horror.

"But Eliza…" Sophie told her gently. "Pourquoi? There's a civil-war going on over there…against that Dark Lord."

"And that's why I'm going," Eliza said calmly. "I'm going to help. I have thought long and hard on this," she added, when she saw her friends open their mouths again, doubtlessly to offer more protests and reasons why she shouldn't. "It is not a decision I made overnight, and non, it is not just because of my mother. Oui, she was the opening factor, but far from the last. Je dois faire ceci. Won't you support me? You are my best friends, and it would mean a lot to me."

Julie was the first to speak, and she embraced Eliza tightly, closing her eyes. "Of course I will support you in this, ami de mon coeur. If it is truly what you want."

"It is," Eliza nodded.

"Does your father know?" Sophie asked, a frown between her eyebrows.

"Non," Eliza answered, shaking her head. "Of course he doesn't. Can you imagine his reaction if he was to find out?"

"Well, then you have my blessing too," Audrey grinned. "Anything to piss him off."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Audrey. Eliza, you have to tell him!" Sophie exclaimed. "Il est votre père! Or are you just going to get up one night and leave, without saying goodbye?"

Eliza shrugged, slightly embarrassed. To be honest, that was exactly what she'd planned. "I'm going to leave a letter, of course," she said. "But I can't tell him beforehand, you must understand that!" She looked at her friends pleadingly. "He would never let me go."

Audrey and Julie nodded, but Sophie shook her head. "No. I can't support this, Eliza, I'm sorry. You're my friend, but this is madness! You're heading to your death, not to mention going against your father's wishes."

"And why is that so important, all of sudden?" Eliza demanded to know. "You have never cared about what he thinks before."

Sophie bit her lip. "We aren't children anymore," she finally said. "We have responsibilities now. We can't play around, like before."

"I'm not playing around, Sophie," Eliza said quietly. "I'm very serious about this, and I feel that my responsibility is to help in the war against Voldemort."

Sophie flinched at the name. "Don't," she begged. "Don't go. Stay here. Where you'll be safe."

"And unhappy," Eliza finished. "No, Sophie. I'm leaving France, and nothing you say will change that, but your understanding would mean a lot to me."

"But I don't!" Sophie said loudly. "I don't understand, and I certainly don't approve." She took a deep breath. "I am not going to tell your father about your outrageous plans, but I can't support you in this, Eliza, I'm sorry." Spinning around on her heels, Sophie walked away, and Eliza looked after her dejectedly, sad that this was likely the last time she would ever see her friend in a long while, and that it was in such a heartbreaking way that they parted.

"When are you leaving?" Julie asked, filling the awkward silence that had fallen over the three friends when Sophie walked away.

"Tonight," Eliza said quietly. "The sooner I leave the better, or my father might start to suspect. I already have an apartment set up in London, and my money transferred to a vault at Gringotts there."

"When did you have time to arrange all this?" Audrey asked.

"During these past six months," Eliza said. "And I have had a…mentor…help me set everything up properly." She was truly grateful for all of Dumbledore's help. A month earlier, she had written to the Headmaster, telling him of her final decision – that she was determined to help in the war, in any way that she could. He had written back, and told her they could speak more of what she could do when and if she arrived in Britain, and had offered to make arrangements for a move from France to England. Gladly, she had accepted, and over the course of the following weeks, the two had exchanged a large flurry of letters.

"I wish you all the luck," Audrey told her. "Vous me manquerez."

"I will miss you as well," Julie grinned. "And please, try to not get yourself killed," she added. "After all, I am counting on a reunion, and if you're dead, that could be difficult."

Eliza laughed.

Published: 15/12 - 10

French translations

Très bon – Very good.
Merci – Thank you.
Elle a été très focalisée – She was very focused.
École – School.
Il est merveilleux! – It is wonderful!
Et vous, Eliza? – What about you, Eliza?
Porquoi? – Why?
Je dois faire ceci – I need to do this.
Ami de mon coeur – Friend of my heart.
Il est votre père – He is your father.
Vous me manquerez – I will miss you.