There was no sound. There was no one. There was nothing.

James opened his eyes and found the world had indeed stopped spinning. The Death Eaters were in a half circle, their robes frozen in the air, their wands half raised; Peter was already halfway falling down, his elbow only an inch from the ground.

And then it was like someone released the 'pause' button in an action film – Peter fell with a hard thump. Lily was screaming, losing her footing as Peter stumbled, her hand on his back as she tried to push him aside. Harry's roar swept through the yard in a gale, so loud and emotional that it could wake the dead.

But it was only them. The others – Voldemort, Wormtail, and the Death Eaters were still paused in action, a three-dimensional Muggle painting with vivid details and tension. The graveyard was strangely silent save Harry's roar, echoes still reverberating.

Lily's eyes widened suddenly. 'Something's happening…'

They all turned around. Peter's body was listless and rigid like the cold tombstones. And then something in the air changed – a twinkle of starlight, a change in the wind, a shift of mood – and Peter eyes fluttered open, accompanied by a loud gasp, his chest rising and falling as the fabric that covered his chest slowly inflated like a balloon. Then a wisp of black smoke spiraled into air from the tip of the most inflated point, forming into a shape as the children stumbled away.

'Do not fear me,' a voice said. It could only come from the new shape that was slowly taking up the form of a human. A face with a blank expression that told neither happiness nor sadness. A long silky black robe fell loosely around the body, sweeping the ground with its smoky edges.

Peter's hands were on his chest, his shirt still inflated. 'Who… what…'

'I am Time,' said the figure simply. 'I guard the River between the Beginning and the End.'

Silence ensued. Time dipped its hand, and suddenly there was a glow in its palm. A golden hourglass chained to a necklace with rings rotating around it.

The symbol of ever-changing universe. The device that held eternity in an hour.

Peter let out a gasp. 'That's… the time turner…' He looked down as he put his hand on where the inflation had been. 'You took it.'

'You said you destroyed it,' said Lily.

'I said Crouch cast an Imperius on me and made me destroy it,' replied Peter without missing a beat, 'but he underestimated the lengths I was willing to go. There was no way to break an Imperius without specific Defence skills. And I, obviously –' he laughed bitterly – 'had no such skills. But… he didn't expect I'd break my arm to prevent my own hand from crushing it. The me he knew wouldn't do it for his friends.'

James's and Lily's eyes met. Wormtail's blood was still fresh on the grass, the iron smell diluted by the rotten air from the graves recycling among the buried dead.

'I've been carrying it since.' Peter's voice was no higher than a whisper.

Not a flicker of emotion flitted across Time's face if it ever felt anything at all. Of course, Time was never a human being. It might appear in the form of living creature, but it was inherently an integral element of life. It was infinite.

'Time does not interfere with Death.' A hand waved gracefully. 'Death receives souls from the end of their original timeline. On a different timeline, though, it is I who decide what becomes of you.'

A pause was made to let the message sink in.

'So Peter Pettigrew,' Time continued, and Peter paled. 'You chose to sacrifice. You changed the fate of all those that were supposed to die, and those that are alive today. Here, I ask you: will you make the same choice again, now that I am giving you a second chance?'

It was a 'will you' question; James noticed with his heart skipping a beat. Not the suppositional 'would you', but 'will'. The ominous green jet was still suspended in the air, only inches away from Peter's forehead (because he fell down). The other end was from the tip of Voldemort's wand, his teeth glittering in the bright green light.

'… I didn't…' Peter was panting. He always did when he was nervous. '… choose to sacrifice myself. I just saw the light and… stood up…'

The smoke from under Time's hem boiled. It swirled, like smoke from a volcano before the final explosion. The golden time turner gleamed.

'… It's … instinct…'

'So?' Time's hand gave an inviting gesture.

Peter shut his eyes. Even from James's distance, he could feel Lily's and Harry's heart jumping madly in accordance with his own. He saw Lily's mouth open and close in futile. He tried on his own, only to find that his voice had vanished into thin air and there was nothing he could do.

'I – I –' Peter's face was more than just pale; it was transparent. All his inner emotions were written on it, running in his arteries and veins. 'I – they came in – I… yeah…'

James and Lily stared. Their thudding hearts were singing in unison. Even Harry, who had been having the expression of distrust ever since the Marauders stumbled into the future, went stiff in an instant: he truly cared for Peter. Now that James had known him for a year, it wasn't difficult to figure his son out; not when you're the same age, experiencing the same teenage urges at the same time – it was the very teenage urge in young Peter that made him sacrifice himself for another life while Wormtail, who lacked this crucial substance in him, traded life with power and death.

'Yes,' Peter repeated, his voice very right, clutching himself in his arms. Then, slowly, his furrowed brows unknitted themselves as crinkles at the corner of his eyes smoothened. He looked relieved, peaceful even. 'Yes,' he said, the word rolling on his tongue, settling on the tip, and finally shooting out. 'I am ready. You can kill me now.'

Only now did James realise how uptight Peter had been before tonight. He laughed and joked and played around, but there was an air of tightness around him, though very subtly placed. It was, of course, the consequence of having to swallow the painful truth alone, having to lie to save himself and his friends, and hating himself for it. Peter's happy veneer was built on the foundation of lies and guilt. Now, it was time for liberation.

'Very well, Peter Pettigrew.' Time regarded him shrewdly. 'Time does not interfere with Death, nor does Death interfere with Time. I will, however, save up your show of mercy for you.'

Peter's eyes were closed, the way he closed it when he took a nap. He breathed slowly.

'Tonight, I release you from demise in exchange of your heart. When your time comes, this very bit of mercy will burn as the last pop of the candle before it goes off.'

Harry's eyes narrowed. Before any of them knew, bright golden light beams started issuing from the collar, the hem and sleeves of Time's robe, twisting and crossing, knitting themselves into a giant gold net that enclosed them. Harry fell down from the statue with a yelp, the ropes Wormtail conjured gone without warning.

'Go,' said Time, pointing at Cedric's body and the wooden Cup. 'Fetch the boy and go back to wherever you came from. I will slow things down, but not for long.'

The net of golden beams brightened. And then Voldemort was screeching in rage, and Death Eaters were hitting the net with various spells. James dragged Lily and Harry towards the Cup. Harry clutched Cedric's arm as tightly as he could as his eyes started blurring around the edges.

The light beams were fading. People were closing in –

'Come on!' James shouted. And then his fingertip touched the wooden surface, and swish! They were hurled away from the jaws and claws of death.


Sirius felt the peace and quiet he had long needed. His head was light, his body soft and warm like bathing in the morning sun. Perhaps he was on the bank near the Lake? The Marauders loved spending time there.

He didn't remember what happened, or how and why he was here. All he knew that he was in a chat with someone. Pleasant, so far. He had been going on about Regulus's first show of magic:

… and then his pee floated up. You know, it's the colour of tea. So we – well, it was mostly my idea – I put it in mother's tea. Reg had asked where mummy had gone the whole afternoon. One of the best days of my life, I dare say…

And then he was on his blissful Marauders years –

… James is the most stupid. Always around the redhead. And Peter always follows James, so Evans must've thought she's got two bloody pursuers. Stuck up, isn't she? But I tell you, she has a good heart – Well, I take that back; she's borrowed Remus's grandma detective stories and hasn't yet returned them…

Whatever the other person said was lost in the sudden realisation of him being in a dark maze, a Sphinx staring at him, her eyes glowing, and her paw on his chest.

'What –!' Sirius staggered. His back hit a wall made of bushes; it must have bruised him.

'It's time,' said the Sphinx. 'Remember what we talked about?'

'I –' He hesitated. It only seemed so reasonable to climb on the Sphinx's back, so he did. Next came James and Lily crashing through a wall, the bushes grazed their already bloodied skin.

It took only a second for Sirius to re-register the situation. James and Lily climbed behind him, and then the great wings of the Sphinx spread apart, bringing them into the sky, heading straight for the castle.


The passing of time went unnoticed in Moody's quiet office. There was a sheen of sweat on Remus's forehead, the trunk before him, the very way it was when he first laid eyes on it.

'Mr Moody!' Remus tried again. There must be some profound sound-proof charms on the trunk. Lock charms as well, Remus reckoned. To open the trunk was simply impossible. Moody's nametag on the map had not moved an inch since he noticed it. He only prayed that he was alive.

'He must be,' Remus mused. 'Crouch needs his hair for the Potion. And surely the map shows only people who are alive?'

He must thank really thank whoever in them had the genius mind to come up with the idea of a map because he wouldn't have figured out anything if it wasn't for it, much less noticing Crouch and Harry coming his way. Footsteps were feet away and the next thing he knew, the office door was slammed open, with Harry struggling under Crouch's grip on his collar. Crouch, in Moody's body, was clearly shocked to see Remus.

'Stop moving, stay where you are.' Remus's wand was level with Crouch's chest. Harry's face was red with anger, his limbs flailing and was clearly being put on a silencing spell. 'Release him.'

Moody's magical eye stilled. 'What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing, Lupin? No students are allowed in the office without permission.'

Remus kept his wand steady despite his growing fear. He knew very well that he was facing a real, dangerous, in-service Death Eater right now. Whatever he was going to do, there would be no do-overs. He had made a decision in a split second's time: he would do anything to keep Harry safe, even if it meant sacrificing himself.

Crouch looked through Remus where the Marauder's Map lay open on the desk. A sneer turned up, an expression so un-Moody-like, and his grip on Harry's collar tightened.

'You might've learned a thing or two from your little gang –' Crouch flicked his wand so quickly that Remus saw only a blur, and then his wand shot out like an arrow into Crouch's grip – 'but it doesn't mean you can always be the big boss. I'm much stronger than you now, Mr Prefect.'

Oh great, so I became a prefect, thought Remus while keeping his face blank. That didn't mean he was not in any way panicked though, he was now without his wand, and was as good as dead. He started to regret not going along with Crouch and sneaking out to get help. Peter would've done that, he'd always been tactful. He would do anything to avoid a face-to-face confrontation if he wasn't confident that he would win. For once in Remus's life, he wished to release that nasty beast he bore. His only powerful self in this situation.

Crouch poked Harry in the ribs. Then the silencing spell was lifted, and Harry was yelling furiously.

'The Dark Lord has risen again, hasn't him? This is real?' Crouch rasped.

'Oh how I wish it was a dream,' Harry spat.

Crouch's eyes glowed like a cat's in the dark. 'Did he punish those who abandoned him? Those who had left him, and only came back when the mark burns?'

'Why don't you ask Snape?' Harry said venomously. 'What, he's dead?'

'Snape.' The corner of Crouch's mouth curled up unpleasantly. 'What does he know? Hiding in the castle while I execute the Dark Lord's scheme. None of them comes as close to me.'

'Is that so? Seems to me you miscalculated quite a lot,' Remus said, watching. It seemed that Crouch planned to interrogate Harry before he did anything, so Remus picked his words very carefully. 'Could've had us dead by Christmas.'

Crouch laughed so hard that he doubled over. 'Dead? I never want you dead. The Dark Lord wants you dead, but I see farther than that.' Hopping on the desk, he swept everything – the detector, quilts, papers, all kinds of Defence equipment – to the floor, watching them crash into pieces. 'Chaos,' he hissed. 'Chaos is what I want. And this, this is only the beginning.'

Remus and Harry exchanged a glance. They were dealing with more than just a Death Eater. Crouch was a lunatic.

'The best way to torture a person,' said Crouch, his face contorting so that the scars drew together, forming an ugly map on the muscles, 'is to leave him between living and death. He is living, but not truly living; he craves death, but dying is the last thing he can do.

'You are still alive purely because of luck. But that's alright. The great game lies ahead. One day, the Dark Lord will understand that messing with the universe is way more fun than just killing a little bespectacled boy.'

'Then, in that case, you failed spectacularly,' Harry snarled. 'Your Dark Lord was unable to do us in. My mum and dad escaped, and they could always get another child who will destroy Voldemort, just like many others can.'

'Failed? But you're here now. So is the beast. Better, even.' Crouch twirled Remus's wand – as well as Harry's, which he must've snatched earlier – between his fingers. 'My goal has always been firstly killing you off, secondly tampering with the timeline. Either, if not both, will do.

'It's only luck that had been keeping you from me. Breaking the lock of the Shrieking Shack was a start. Had it not been your ickle friends, the beast would've been executed, and the Ministry would've got hold of five illegal time travellers.'

Harry's eyes were burning. 'Didn't know the Ministry had joined forces with Voldemort.'

'Joined forces?' Crouch let out a mocking laugh. 'Nah it doesn't. We take over it. But see how you've missed the point? We don't have to lay a finger on the time travellers to get them in trouble. You think the Ministry would let Sirius Black escape again? Not to talk about some geeks I know who would kill to get their hands on them for their freakish experiments. Mad, just like my old man…'

Remus slipped his hand into his pocket. He so very much regretted not carrying a dungbomb or two with him like James did. At least he'd have something – something –

'… Speaking of madman, I have long suspected Sirius Black is still around, and Lupin so conveniently communicated with somebody through owl posts when he clearly doesn't know anyone. Honestly, Snape was right about one thing: that no one sane apart from his lapdog would die to get their hands on him –' Remus flushed at once, anger and mortification both threatening to get the better of him – 'so I cast an Imperius on the stupid girl on Christmas to make her get the paper on you. Had Snape been out of my bloody way, I would've got immediate evidence of Black's appearance. And, had the useless elf been minding its own business, the werewolf and Black would've been corpses in the lake, and not here barging into the office and barking –'

Remus felt a sudden hot spot in his trouser pocket. For a split second, he thought he'd wet his pants; and then he saw golden light, flickering, going on and off. He shot his hands over the spot before Crouch could see it, who, indulged in his sweet plan of revenge, was still talking.

' – and for all these, who would've borne full responsibility? Albus Dumbledore. He hid five time travellers in his school, one of which is Sirius Black, without reporting to the ministry. And oh, of course, my dearest father as well, who would've been charge with neglect of safety of candidates and rules of his stupid tournament. Once Hogwarts and the Ministry are in chaos, it would be the time to reverse all the wrongs in the world…'

Light on, light off. Off, off, off, on, off. On. On. Remus's heart gave a giant lurch. Was that –?

'… The Dark Lord is the most righteous. Doesn't take advantage of anyone. Stooping that low to kill a little boy? Not his class.'

Let Crouch talk, don't stop. All Remus needed was just a few more seconds; everything depended on this moment alone. He whispered, his fingers tapping on the coin, counting the beat: on, on, off, on, off. He hoped it wasn't just his mere imaginationl; he prayed that Sirius had indeed read his entire collection of Sherlock Holmes because he was betting the fate of all of them on it.

'… but I, his most trusted servant, will finish his job for him –'

The door flew open at that exact instant, behind it was Sirius, James and Lily on a giant Sphinx – Remus's jaw dropped – and she charged, lion body strong and agile, pressing him to the ground. Minerva McGonagall's authoritative voice arrived before she did; at that, Remus relaxed and fell to the call of gravity, all the energy drained out of him.

Somehow, Sirius's voice was still the easiest to pick out amidst the roars of a Sphinx and McGonagall's raging fit.

'I can do Morse code now. Beat me on that?'

Remus marvelled at how under extreme circumstances, one could still muster the power to stick out his tongue.


'Enjoying the view?'

'I am, Professor.'

Peter was standing on the balcony, looking out the great castle. A river ran between the valleys, stretching beyond the green and into the blue of the sky, eventually fusing and becoming one of the golden rays of the sinking sun. The view was not so much different than that in 1974.

'Sunset at Hogwarts has always been my favourite time,' said Peter.

'Soothing,' Professor Dumbledore agreed. 'And, it's almost always the time for goodbye.' He nudged Peter in the arm, a gesture Peter didn't expect from the hundred-year-old Headmaster.

'I don't think –' Peter peered behind them where the Gryffindor Trio and the rest of the time travellers were at, talking, smiling, sobbing and bidding farewell as the time turner glimmered in the fading sunlight, ' – that I deserve it.'

'I am sure,' Dumbledore's gaze was steady, 'that after yesterday, the least you deserve is a proper goodbye.'

'But –' Peter bit his lip, eyes closed, ' –I don't understand. That was me. Me and me throughout. But – how could I –? It's so wrong –'

'If only people could see.' Dumbledore shook his head, darkness flitted across his face, his thoughts very far. 'Haven't we all been there before? Losing our heads in our own dreams and only realising how wrong we were when it's way too late.' He then shot Peter a look. 'Well, in your case, too early. But the logic is the same.'

The boy's grip on the balustrade hardened. 'How am I supposed to live with this?'

'You won't,' Dumbledore said. 'The least we want is interfering with history. You will go back without any memories of the past year, just as you have never come here.'

'You're going to wipe us.' Realisation hit Peter hard. But what else did he expect, really?

'"Wipe" is not the word I would use,' replied Dumbledore calmly. 'More like Obliviate.'

'I – I know.' Was it anger that Peter felt in him? That was new. 'But James and Lily –

they have spent a year knowing the son they'd never have the chance to know. Are they just going to forget everything? For the sake of history?'

There was something on Dumbledore's wrinkled face that wasn't the all-knowing, peace-making default headmaster expression. 'That, and for your own sake,' he pointed vaguely to one side. 'You should never have borne the burden of the future. Enjoy your youth while it lasts.' He paused, the look of recalling old memories returning. 'Although – some feelings can never be erased. They transcend time, magic – even reason. They transcend us.'

Sometimes, Peter forgot that the Headmaster was really old and had been through a lot enough to say what he said. But still, he had his doubts.

'You never trusted us, did you? I mean, you did let me take away the time turner without saying anything when you could've prevented it.'

Dumbledore arched an eyebrow. 'I place my trust very carefully,' he eventually said, not denying anything. Peter could see that he was surprised. 'I cannot afford to lose it.'

'Keeping your silence to lure out the traitor at the risk of your students' safety. Not big enough a cost, eh?' Peter turned away from the Headmaster, his tone suddenly frosty. Maybe it was the aftereffects of Crouch's spells, he was much prone to lose his temper at the slightest trigger. 'Only that you didn't foresee there were two traitors at the same time, one of which is our dear imposter professor.'

Dumbledore was silent. At length, he nodded. 'You're right. I misjudged the situation.' He paused, as if deliberating whether it was the right time to say whatever was on his mind.

Peter was too impatient for whatever he was thinking. He'd heard enough of grand speeches.

'If you're so sorry about us, then why won't you let us stay? You know what, of all the people you're the one who wants us to go back most as if our presence is a nuisance to you. But of course we are, look at the mess we've made!' He let out a bitter laugh and stopped for a breath, surprised at what he had blurted out. Swallowing, quelling the burn in his chest, he said again, in a calmer voice, 'The least you could do is to give Harry a family.'

'I wish I could. I do.' Dumbledore leaned on the balustrade. The sun was now only a tip from the lake. Night was falling. 'But time travelling is, to this day, a mystery even to time experts. Why do you think I started experimenting with time suddenly?'

Peter looked at him expectantly, and he sighed. 'I once had a dream bigger than this world. I was silly, full of myself… reckless. Time travelling was something that I looked into, but even then I stepped back. It's against nature.'

'But the new timeline we created –'

'I know. A Y-shaped timeline from where history diverged.' Dumbledore held up a hand. 'It's true. From my studies, time travellers could technically remain in the future and never go back, given that they do not die of any unnatural means. It's a way to conquer death, in a way,' he smiled wryly. 'But of all the journeys ever documented, none of the time travellers stayed. None. They all came back eventually.'

'Why is that?' Peter asked. 'They don't have to come back to reshape history. They can start all over again without erasing the past.'

'Yet they all came back, and only left the message that time travelling is a dangerous territory,' said Dumbledore. 'I asked myself the same question. If they can stay but don't, there must be something that forces them to go back.'

'Death?' Peter prompted. 'Like here, all the Death Eaters wanted to do us in.'

'No.' Dumbledore shook his head. 'A lot of them, like you, rather risk their lives to start a different life than go back and die the way they'd learn about. But death is not the reason. It's rather the opposite, really. It's eternity that makes them go back.'

Peter didn't quite follow him. 'Eternity…?'

'As tempting as it sounds, it is not actually that appealing,' explained Dumbledore. 'When a person travels to the future, the Time they carry, which in theory, is incompatible with the new time they are in, freezes. In other words, they do not age or die. They freeze in time.'

Peter's mouth was in a full 'o' shape. He rubbed his hands, touched his hair, bent and straightened his back. Did something feel different? Was he still a functioning human?

'This is to prevent time travellers who do short journeys from losing time on their own timeline. Say a person spends an hour on a different timeline. If he does that every single day, and if he aged the same rate as he does on his original timeline, when he returns, he would be 365 hours, that's 15 days older than everyone at present. If he does that continuously for ten years, he would be half a year older than he should be. But since time travelling works in the way such that you do not age, there are no missing ages. You are still the same the age you've come. In your case, you are still fourteen, not a day older than you were in September, 1974.'

'Sounds… great,' said Peter stiffly. Wasn't this what he wanted all along? To never grow to twenty-one and betray his friends?

'Is it?' The old man looked down wistfully, sighing. 'You're not alone on this. Everyone thought the same when they started. But what happens when they see every one of their loved ones grow old and die, and they're still there, forever young? Think about Harry. He will die one day, so will his children, and his grandchildren, and his great-grandchildren. By then, you would still be fourteen while every day, you fear to be discovered and sent back while Voldemort hunts you down. Is this what you're willing to see?'

Peter didn't make a sound.

'This is why,' Dumbledore said, his gaze on Peter heavy and sincere, 'that although many have gone, they eventually go back to where they belong. They might have been gone for a hundred years, or a thousand years, that's not important. At some point, they will always go back to exactly when they left. This is why, even with time travelling, history never truly diverged.'

'And the alternate universe they created?'

'Returns to the state when they haven't been there,' said Dumbledore. 'In other words, history restarts, just as they have never come at all.'

Peter was still avoiding eye contact with Dumbledore, who continued: 'Of all the mistakes I've made, this is the one that I regret most. Voldemort – saw something that we failed to see in you and made it his sharpest weapon. As your teachers, it is entirely our fault for never seeing and grooming it.' He looked right at Peter sincerely, apologetically, blue irises tinged with pain. 'We all owe you an apology.'

The image of his older self popped in his mind, cradling the baby-like Voldemort and later his silver hand. He had to use every ounce of his energy not to throw up on the spot. 'I… I don't think I'll accept it.'

'As rightfully,' said the Headmaster.

They basked in silence, looking out the balcony, at the great river that eventually poured into the Scottish sea – it was, after all, probably the only memory common between the confused student and the wise professor, the only scene that connected the missing gaps, filling in twenty years of difference of time.

A/N: I just realised this is the only chapter that contains all four Marauders' POV lol