As we're entering THE YEAR OF THE RAT (!) I would like to be more consistent and dedicated to getting chapters up and maybe even finishing (!) Part One (!) before the year's end.

Regardless, welcome to new readers, my love to returning readers, and all my thanks for entering Peter's head with me. 3

Back at James and Lily's place, the seven friends drew up benches and chairs to the kitchen table while they waited for Dumbledore. Surprisingly, the scene they had witnessed at Uxbridge North had not subdued anyone's mood for long. In fact, they seemed to gain a new energy from the event and discussed theories and suspects between sips of too-sweet coffee and bites of biscuits.

Only James, Sirius, and Peter were quiet, and they were surely thinking about the same thing. News of a werewolf attack made them wonder how large the British werewolf community could be, and how Remus—still incommunicado—fit into it. Where was Remus, really? The unspoken suspicion was 'Order business', but how could they get away to talk it over by themselves?

Lily had noticed their uncharacteristic silence, but she was preoccupied with playing hostess. The only indication that she knew what was weighing on her husband's mind was her left hand laid reassuringly upon James's arm.

After listening to Fabian explain his theory about werewolf mind-control via the Imperius Curse for the third time, James nodded at Sirius and Peter and stood, gently withdrawing his arm from under Lily's hand. "Smoke," he said gruffly. "Be right back."

Lily's green eyes flicked from James to Peter to Sirius and back to James. She turned her cheek to him and he leaned down to kiss it. Peter and Sirius swung their legs over the bench and followed James out the kitchen door, down the corridor and over the red-and-gold oriental rug Peter had always admired—his mother's apartment was covered in linoleum and laminate "wood" flooring—then out the massive front door.

Sirius immediately pulled out a cigarette and offered the pack to James, who waved it away. "I'll share yours."

"Bastard." But Sirius was smirking. He lit it and sucked it deeply before passing it to James, who gave an equally hearty inhale.

"So." The word was exhaled with the smoke. "Obviously we're all thinking about Moony right now."

Sirius and Peter nodded. It felt oddly like their third year again, when they had first come together to discuss their concern for Remus's frequent absences. A chance glance at a comic book in their dormitory had sparked a theory that had excited and unnerved them until they finally confronted Remus, who reluctantly confirmed their wildest imaginings. Almost immediately, their concern had given way to hard studying, to the thrill of transformation, and to the rush of joy that seemed to last for two straight years of illicit jaunts across the Hogwarts grounds.

Now, five years later, the concern was re-emerging, once again directed at the obvious vacancy Remus had left in his wake.

Sirius took the cigarette back, frowning. "Why didn't we make him tell us where he was going? We should've pressed him harder."

"We can't make him do anything," James pointed out.

"Sure we can! We did it all the time at school."

James looked guilty. "Not exactly."

Peter's mouth quirked up. Remus was not necessarily an active participant in their most destructive pranks, but he would be sure to keep a good lookout and make sure the teachers were diverted from whatever corridor—or student—they were…adjusting.

"Either way, he didn't just leave town to see to his sick aunt."

"He doesn't have an aunt," Peter interjected.

"Yes. I know, Wormtail. It's a figure of speech." James glanced at the front door. "You know, Dumbledore did get him alone a few times when we first started up. I'm sure it's crossed all of our minds that he's doing something for the cause.

This was true; it had seemed the most likely option, and it explained Dumbledore's casual response to their worry. If Dumbledore knew where he was—or had, in fact, assigned Remus to go—then perhaps it was mostly under control.

"I suppose," Sirius frowned. "But not alone, surely!"

"Why not? He can handle it."

Sirius didn't look so sure. He looked to Peter to back him up, but Peter just shrugged.

"Fine. Let's say he is—he probably is." Sirius dropped the stubbornness, waving a hand impatiently. "What could he be doing? Werewolves aren't exactly a desirable guest. And even if he didn't let on about his 'furry little problem', he wouldn't be able to stay anywhere for longer than a few weeks."

"That doesn't even take into account how he'd manage the transformations," Peter added.

"Exactly! And that doesn't explain why Dumbledore would send him out in the first place."

"Maybe," James reasoned, taking the proffered cigarette from Sirius once more. "Dumbledore has another werewolf friend in the Order, but living abroad or something."

"Maybe," Peter echoed doubtfully. He was remembering Moody's words from earlier, and the implication that werewolves—perhaps a large group of them—had chosen to support the Death Eaters.

"I wonder," he began.

James and Sirius turned to look at him blankly; it was rare for Peter to volunteer a theory. Peter quailed, but forced himself to clear his throat and keep going. "I wonder if maybe he's trying to get other werewolves on our side. Moody did say—well, he sort of said—there might be werewolves on the Death Eater side already."

The other two raised considering eyebrows at each other. Sirius exhaled smoke. "Could be," James said. "Good one, Wormtail."

Peter felt a rush of pleasure at this, and quickly added: "It would explain why he had to go alone, and why he couldn't tell us."

"Not exactly," Sirius said sourly. "It's not like we've never kept an important secret for him before. And can you even imagine him talking to another werewolf? He can barely talk to people who aren't us."

"Don't be a prick," James warned. "Did it ever occur to you that he isn't comfortable with people because he's afraid of his secret getting out? Not to mention the fact that he knows he can tear them apart for three days once a month."

Sirius scowled. "Fine. So he's off getting buddy-buddy with some other lycanthropes. What does it mean?"

"How should I know?" James sucked down the last of the cigarette and ground it under his heel. "But we need to respect that he's doing the job he was given, and that he might have found some people who can understand him better than we can."

Sirius looked unconvinced, even a little offended.

The idea of Remus finally finding werewolf companionship was not as comforting as it might have been in other circumstances. Anxiety had built-up around Peter's heart like wax; he secretly wished that a flame of certainty would flare inside him to melt it. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You don't think he had anything to do with that woman tonight…"

"What?" James's shoulders tensed under his denim jacket. "What do you mean? That he attacked someone? Ridiculous." His eyes were wide and incredulous.

"It couldn't be him," Sirius said firmly, shaking his head. "It's not."

The front door creaked, and all three of them started. They whirled to look at the doorway; Gideon was hovering there.

Peter crossed his arms and looked up at Gideon. "Yes?" It came out sharper than he'd meant it to.

Gideon closed the door behind him with a gentle click and descended the porch stairs. He raised his large hands in a gesture of surrender. "I don't want to get everyone worried, but I want to talk to all of you about something important. Look—" His voice was soft. He ran a hand through his curly red hair, searching for the right words. "We know about Remus, all right? We know what he is."

Peter's stomach swooped. "What?"

Sirius looked away, laughing mirthlessly. "Brilliant. Fucking brilliant."

James waved an impatient hand at Sirius. "Who's 'we'?"

"Fabian and I suspected for a little while, but the wolf patronus made it a bit obvious—to us, anyway. Don't worry! We're not going to say anything to anyone else in the Order, but…" Gideon bit his lip. "I think we all know Moody and Dumbledore would be stupid to rule him out as a suspect in tonight's murder. They know about him too, right? Dumbledore must've known all this time."

It was like a switch had flicked in Sirius; he stopped laughing instantly. "Don't fucking talk about Remus," Sirius snarled, sticking a finger in Gideon's freckled face.

Speculation between friends was acceptable—after all, they knew there was no real truth to the idea. But an accusation from an outsider could not be afforded the same understanding.

"Back off, mate." It was said without anger, but the Prewett twins were known for being large, competent duelers—with or without their wands. It was not smart to challenge them twice. "I'm not saying he did it. In fact, I really don't think he did. But no one knows where he is and this is definitely the work of a werewolf. It doesn't look good."

Sirius wiped his mouth and stared up at the dawn sky, hands on his hips. James was pacing back and forth on the front walk.

It was not so shocking that Gideon and Fabian had made the connection that Remus was a werewolf. After all, the twins were far older and more experienced than Peter and his friends had been when they'd discovered it. And it was a natural progression to link Remus—the only werewolf they knew, and a missing one, at that—to the scene of a werewolf attack.

"I swear," Gideon said. "We haven't told a soul. Not even Marlene. How many of you know?"

Peter glanced at James and Sirius, who met his gaze. James nodded.

"Lily knows," Peter muttered. "And Dumbledore, and Dorcas Meadowes."

Sirius shifted uncomfortably.

"Right," Gideon nodded. "Not a word—we swear it." He held out his hand; James shook it, then Peter, and after a moment of hesitation, Sirius did as well.

They stood in an awkward circle, unsure of what to say next.

"I guess I should be heading in," Gideon said, not meeting their eyes. "Dumbledore'll be getting back soon."

The others did not reply, only watched him stride up the stairs and back through the front door, which he left cracked open. The lion-headed door knockers gaped at them mutely, glimmering faintly in the growing light.

James removed his glasses and ran a hand over his face. "Well, that was fun."

"Who the hell does he think he is?" Sirius frowned, lighting another cigarette.

Peter did not blame Gideon. He was smart and seemed genuinely concerned about Remus—after all, he had not mentioned it to anyone else in all the months since the wolf patronus had been revealed. All he wanted was justice for a dead woman and her missing child. Who didn't want that?

Gideon's earlier comment to Lily echoed in Peter's brain: "You know all those missing kids? It's like that, except…more."

"A werewolf," Moody added, in his memory.

With a jolt, it came together.

A werewolf who steals children. There was only one person Peter had heard of who fit that description, and he hadn't heard his name since Remus had first uttered it in the Forbidden Forest three years previous. Greyback.

Peter thought of the wounds he'd seen on the woman, recalled the wounds Remus had sometimes made on himself. They had been deep and ugly and undoubtedly painful. Peter imagined Greyback as a massive, hairy creature that walked on two legs but had the claws and teeth of a wolf. He thought again of Remus and felt a bit stupid—Greyback probably looked like anyone else when he wasn't transformed.

But the missing children. The werewolf attacks. Greyback was almost certainly still alive—Remus surely would have mentioned it if Greyback had been reported dead. Was he targeting children once more? Had he joined forces with Voldemort, as Moody had hinted the werewolves had? Was capturing children his assignment…or his reward? Peter shuddered to think.

Furthermore, Remus was putting himself willingly in Greyback's way to try and gain Order support from other werewolves. Peter could not tell if he thought Remus was impressively brave, or the most foolish person he knew.

"Do you think he'll come back?" Peter said softly.

"Of course," James said automatically, eyes glazed with preoccupation. "We're going to see him inside."

"Not Gideon. I meant Remus."

Their silence was only broken by the wind that swished through the hedges and rustled the trees.

The uncertainty was the worst part. They had hoped that each new day would offer them answers, but now a thousand more questions had sprouted and a growing dread settled across their shoulders.

Peter did not feel much better in the days after the werewolf attack. He was not sure how to express his suspicions about Greyback to his friends, who seemed loath to accept that Remus might be involved with other werewolves at all, let alone the kind who allied themselves with Lord Voldemort.

The Order's night watch had been contending with a sudden uptick in tips that had scattered and stretched their manpower throughout London. Unfortunately, the Death Eaters were not the only group making themselves known on the streets.

James stalked into the parlor and threw his jacket onto a faded armchair, hard. Sirius walked after him, twirling the key to his motorbike on one finger.

Peter looked up from his book. "Another false alarm?"

"Another bloody false alarm." James gritted his teeth. "The goddamn Skull Biters or whatever the hell they're calling themselves."

"Idiots," Sirius shrugged, shucking his own coat. "I don't understand these copycat gangs, mate. Bunch of stupid kids rattling rubbish bins and thinking it's a laugh to scrawl the Dark Mark on every surface. Keep that up and they're bound to find themselves face-to-face with the actual Death Eaters." He considered this, twisting a lock of shiny black hair between his fingers. "Come to that, I quite envy them. I'd love to get the chance to have a go at—at one of those evil tossers."

James and Peter exchanged a look. It was the closest Sirius had come to mentioning Regulus in months.

Lily, bundled in a wheat-colored sweater, entered with a tea tray. "What happened now?"

"It's these damn kids, Lil," James' shoulders slumped, all the anger emptying out of him at the sight of his fiancee. "Thinking it's cool or clever to be like the Death Eaters. They don't take it seriously at all. Not their safety, not the fact that everyone is scared shitless these days of seeing that goddamn Mark. They just think it makes them tough." He sat heavily on his jacket and put his head in his hands: the very image of the noble, put-upon hero.

Lily put the tea tray down on the table next to James and leaned down to kiss his head. "What were they up to now?"

"They burned the Mark into the door of a house in Barnsbury."

"Quite near my parents' place, actually," Sirius added, levitating a biscuit from the tray. "Family called Quintrelle."

"But when we got there," James continued. "It turned out everyone inside was safe and well—thankfully they hadn't seen the Mark yet, and we repaired the burn so they wouldn't worry. We just asked them to contact us if they ever heard anyone sneaking around their property. Stupid kids causing trouble for people and making more work for us." James plucked a cup from the tray and held it out; Lily poured tea into it. "You'd think they'd understand some simple respect and safety."

Lily hmmed. It was not a sympathetic noise.

"What is it? James asked slowly, his voice split between annoyance and caution.

Lily poured herself a cup of tea and added milk, measuring her reply. "It sounds a bit like the kind of stuff you and your mates would be up to if you hadn't gotten yourself on the straight-and-narrow after fifth year."

Peter and Sirius pointedly avoided each other's eyes. If "straight-and-narrow" was what James had told Lily, it was best not to spoil her perception of the facts.

"Come on, Lily," James frowned. "You know we never crossed a line like this."—Sirius' and Peter's stares burned into the ceiling—"We take this seriously."

"I know you do." She perched on the footstool in front of James' chair and sipped her tea delicately. "But it's not that hard to believe that there are some people who don't, is it? After all, plenty of people took the school rules seriously, and you didn't."

"That's different! We weren't dealing with life and death."

"Hmm." Although Lily accepted that James had saved Snape in fifth year, she had not completely let Sirius off the hook for putting her friend in danger, even after she and Snape had parted ways.

Peter cleared his throat. "They must not know the spell then. To make the Mark."

The other three turned to him.

"Sorry?" Lily prompted.

"Well, you said they've been making graffiti of it or burning it on. They can't cast the spell, so they have to imitate it." He shrugged, relishing their slight confusion. "Probably a good way to tell if you're dealing with copycats or the real thing."

James and Sirius shared a surprised look that transformed into twin grins.

"Well done, Peter!" Sirius tossed him a biscuit. "And I wondered why we kept you around."

Peter crunched the biscuit whole to avoid having to force a smile.

"All right, then." Lily stood and replaced her empty teacup on the tray. "The meeting is starting soon and people will be arriving any minute. Help me get the place in order—I hear we've got a special guest coming tonight."

James frowned. "Who's that?"

"Dunno." Lily lifted the tray and turned towards the doorway. "A Slytherin girl. Someone with information on the other side, apparently."

"That doesn't sound suspicious at all," Sirius mused.

At that, the door creaked open to admit Dumbledore and Moody; the Prewetts and Longbottoms trailed behind. Peter smiled at Alice, who waved brightly. Sirius puckered his lips and wiggled his fingers coquettishly at Peter, who glared back.

"Good evening," Dumbledore intoned, setting a leather-bound notebook on the table by his usual seat. Moody stood dutifully by Dumbledore's chair. Peter could not remember him ever sitting down in a meeting.

"Hullo, Pete!" Alice pulled a footstool over and sat down, stretching her legs out before her. She was wearing penny loafers. "How's everything going? I heard about the ruckus in Uxbridge; I was at the office when Moody got back. Was it awful?"

"It was…not good," Peter allowed, feeling both pleased that Alice was paying him particular attention, and uneasy about the images of the slashed body flashing through his brain. "I honestly tried to stay out of the way, though. All I know is that the baby is missing. Her first baby, they said."

Alice nodded gravely. "Yes, I heard that. We put out a call to all of the MLE offices in the country, but there isn't much else we can do."

Peter shifted uncomfortably, and he opened his mouth to ask about today's mystery guest, but then Frank joined them, and Peter did not feel comfortable interrupting their affectionate looks with more questions.

A few minutes later, Marlene McKinnon arrived, an older girl in tow.

"Ah, our guest of honor," Dumbledore smiled, rising from his seat. "Welcome." He shook the taller girl's hand and turned to the room. "We are very fortunate to have Belinda McKinnon with us today. The elder Ms. McKinnon was a member of Slytherin House when Lord Voldemort—" Belinda winced. "—first began scouting for followers amongst Hogwarts students."

Belinda was in her late twenties. She was a taller, unfreckled version of her sister; they shared the same auburn hair, although she was lean and athletic where Marlene curved softly. Her brown eyes slid over several curious—and suspicious—faces, but she didn't look nervous.

Dumbledore levitated a chair from the far end of the parlor and set it next to his. Belinda sat, her eyes never leaving the faces spread out before her.

"People would sneak out to Hogsmeade for these odd meetings. I was invited a few times, but I never liked the look of it."

"Why didn't you say something while you were in school?" Sirius called out, looking skeptical. A few people nodded, James among them.

"Well, mate, having been a Slytherin, I wasn't about to tattle on a bunch of people who knew where I slept."

Sirius flushed. She went on. "But aside from that, I didn't really have any proof they were up to anything very bad. It just seemed like an eerie sort of…club."

"And do you have the names of anyone who still sustain a membership to this club?" Dumbledore asked, pausing in his note-taking to meet Belinda's eyes.

"Yes, sir. I know of several people who are actively involved."

"If you'd feel more comfortable doing so, you can tell me these names privately. I am, after all, just as interested in having you share your experience with how Voldemort recruited his current followers."

"I don't mind saying," Belinda shrugged. "You're all sworn to secrecy or something anyway, so I'm not worried about it coming back to me."

Dumbledore nodded, and gestured for her to continue.

"Anyway, no one ever forced me to come, and even though it had a creepy vibe, I just figured they weren't doing anything much worse than sparking up in the alley behind Madam Puddifoot's or something, since all the potpourri usually masks the smell." She turned to Dumbledore. "'Sparking up' means smoking marijuana, sir."

There were titters; Sturgis Podmore guffawed.

Dumbledore matched her smirk with his own. "I am familiar with the term. One does not remain a Headmaster for over thirty years without learning a thing or two."

"But after a few months," she went on. "I started to notice some…bad stuff. More muggleborns getting cursed in the hallways. I saw classmates perform curses I'd only ever read about, and a few I'd never even heard of."

James and Sirius shared an uncomfortable look.

"No one ever got seriously hurt at school, but one of my classmates—Jonah Fawley, a Ravenclaw—and his new wife disappeared the year after we left school. Personally, I suspect they vanished because the he was a Pureblood who dared to marry a muggle."

The parlor chairs creaked as people shifted uncomfortably. Dorcas was hugging one of the embroidered gold pillows to her chest, looking pained.

"As for the people involved with You-Know-Who, there was Bellatrix Black—although I suppose she's Lestrange now. My friend Andromeda's sister, unfortunately. Bella and her husband Rodolphus were in the club and still are. I think his little brother Rabastan ended up joining them as well. They made no secret that they didn't approve of Jonah's choice of wife, and I wouldn't be surprised if they did them in as soon as the couple returned from the honeymoon. If they had the courtesy to wait until then," she added darkly.

"Anyone else?" Dumbledore asked.

"Lucius Malfoy, but I expect you'd figured that one out." Belinda's lips curled in a mean smile. "He was never very subtle, just good with knowing whose palms to grease. Honestly, just look at the Slug Club manifesto in the Hogwarts archives—it's practically a Who's Who of You-Know-Who's recruits."

Lily waved a hand; her face was red, her eyebrows drawn down. "Are you suggesting that Professor Slughorn is a Death Eater?"

"No, I'm not," Belinda said simply. "I'm saying he has a taste for kids in influential families, and those families tend to have certain values. Doesn't leave much room for getting cozy with muggleborns who haven't had the chance to carve out a reputation yet." She inclined her head slightly to a furious Lily. "I suppose there are exceptions, of course."

Dumbledore raised a pacifying hand. "I can assure you, Miss Evans and Ms. McKinnon, Horace is not a Death Eater, nor does he support them."

"Except indirectly," Belinda added, baring her teeth to the group in a manic sort of grimace; her eyes were hard. "Introducing them to all the right people, furthering their careers and so on. But the Headmaster is right—it's not motivated by his hatred for muggleborns, but simply by his desire to know important people and have a lot of favors owed to him."

"Thank you, Miss. McKinnon," Dumbledore said firmly, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Is there anyone else we should be aware of apart from the Lestranges and Mr. Malfoy?"

"I think Annabel Wilkes runs around with them, sir, but I can't be sure. I've just heard rumors."

"Very well. Thank you, Ms. McKinnon."

"You're welcome, sir." She hesitated, hovering on the edge of her chair.

"Is there something else?" Dumbledore asked, drawing his half-moon spectacles down his nose.

"Only—why did you call me here in front of everyone, sir? I don't think I'm telling you much you didn't already know, aside from the names."

Dumbledore rose and addressed the room at large. "I wanted it to be understood by everyone here that being a Slytherin does not place any person into a certain role or group in this war."

The silence twanged.

"I see," Belinda said stiffly, her gaze fixed high above the heads of the people spread before her. "Will that be all?"

"Yes, I believe so. Thank you, Ms. McKinnon."

Belinda stood and inclined her head to her sister. "See you soon, Marley."

Marlene nodded and they all watched Belinda walk out of the parlor. When they heard the door latch shut, a susurration of voices immediately filled the room. Moody and Dumbledore bent their heads together, glancing occasionally at the door Belinda had just left through.

James turned to Sirius. "I haven't heard of her—if she really were on the other side, I'm sure I'd have heard her name brought up at the Ministry by now."

Sirius did not look entirely reassured, but he nodded. "S'pose she's not too bad, if she's friends with Andromeda. She's the right sort."

"Did you two miss the point entirely?" Lily said sternly, lowering herself into a cross-legged position on the floor. "Dumbledore introduced her so we'd all get over the stereotypes about Slytherin that we've all been clinging to, quite stupidly."

Sirius glanced at Marlene, who was chatting with Gideon, Fabian, and Dorcas; he lowered his voice. "Considering every Death Eater that Belinda girl named was a Slytherin, I don't think that's the most effective lesson."

"Well, Belinda was in Slytherin, wasn't she? She probably knew the most about the people from her own house." Lily brushed her skirt off primly, sounding very much like she had in her Prefect days. "And besides, Dumbledore told us that Voldemort probably doesn't get all his followers together at once—it's too risky. Most of them probably don't even know who else they're working with. A Ravenclaw or something is bound to have slipped in there." Thus, the matter was settled—at least to Lily's mind—so she stood in a fluid motion and joined the Longbottoms and Sturgis Podmore, who had just started up a game of Exploding Snap.

Peter elbowed James. "What's got her knickers in a knot?"

"No idea," James said briskly, standing. "Want a cigarette?"

Sirius, who had been eyeing Dorcas, turned his head, smirking. "Let me guess: you'll split one? Careful, Prongsy, that makes nearly a whole cigarette in one week. Better not risk your delicate lungs much further." James aimed a kick at Sirius, who dodged it and rose gracefully from the carpet. "Touchy! Let's go."

"Peter?" James added over his shoulder. "Want to join?"

Peter slipped his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "No, I think I'm heading home, actually. I've been staying here so much I barely remember what it's like to sleep in my own bed."

He followed them out and Disapparated, arriving at his front door in an instant.

Oddly, a rolled newspaper was propped against the door frame. Peter did not subscribe to the Prophet—he couldn't afford it—and he usually caught up using James and Lily's copies. How did this one make its way here? Misdelivered, perhaps? He could sort it out in the morning.

He unlocked the door and brought the newspaper in with him. In the low light of his small, grimy kitchen, Peter noticed a bit of parchment affixed to the newspaper; he spotted his own name. He slid the string off and unfurled the paper, flattening the handwritten note against the newsprint with his finger and thumb.

Peter—

We don't quite have the front page, but this is only the first shot—and it's pretty good. Glad to be working with you.

B.C.

Peter placed the parchment on the cheap laminate counter top and opened the paper, scanning the bottom-left corner for the features.

Page A-3: Pureblood Cause On the Rise/Takes Root, Spells Disaster

Peter flipped to the page; it was an op-ed piece. There was no byline, just a large headline and a quarter-page block of text pointing out the similarities between the ideals of the Death Eaters—a looming threat to the common good—and the biases that were mostly looked on as harmless, even benevolent, by the wizarding community.

It is not simply that the Death Eaters promote the "virtue" of purebloodedness; peer into any upper-crust parlor at teatime and you'll hear similar whispers. It is that they are prepared to take lives and intimidate our leaders. We must not fall victim to the illusions of a pureblood utopia that clouded our collective vision not three decades ago.

Although many witches and wizards—even those who shrink from the pureblood supremacist label—would not like to trust advice given by muggles, the adage about history repeating itself is one that should be heeded. It is our responsibility to shy away from these casual prejudices and stand united in the face of tyranny.

Almost everyone was suspicious of muggles; after all, the Statute of Secrecy was there for a reason. But by and large, muggleborn or half-blooded wizards and witches had never been treated as having lesser magical talent. More often then not they were simply seen as good people in a bad circumstance, like having a relative who was a Squib, or a mildly off-putting—but noncontagious—skin condition.

Anyone who expressed more definite views about the moral and biological advantages of the pureblooded over the half-blooded or muggleborn were usually considered tactless; those things weren't discussed in Polite Company, and they certainly were not openly embraced, no matter how much Polite Company agreed. It was one of those things that should be accepted as a quiet truth rather than discussed, only mentioned obliquely in trusted circles.

The Black family was a good example. They were an old pureblood line who agreed wholeheartedly with the doctrine of pureblood supremacy (at least, most of them agreed), but they had enough sense of self-preservation to keep any direct mention of their ideals out of the society pages.

Even the Malfoys, a family that had a history of pureblood activism, had toned down their views in the recent decades since an anonymous wizard had made the mistake of publishing the "pure-blood directory" entitled The Sacred Twenty-Eight: a list of the families who, allegedly, had the purest blood. The list was of dubious accuracy, but it had created a minor sensation—for better or worse—in the 1930s. The Malfoys had been on the list and had originally bragged about their inclusion, but other families on the list were less pleased at being perceived as "elitist" or "prejudiced" and stirred up a counter-movement that spread to far more influential people than anyone had expected. The tide turned, however briefly, and had silenced the boasts of many witches and wizards, although the ringing voices of certain families—the Lestranges, for example—remained.

Peter had no doubt that the Malfoys still felt the same way about muggleborns, but it appeared they knew to let well enough alone when it came to maintaining the peace and their place in society.

Which is why this article was very unusual; it was rare for anyone to address the unspoken tensions that simmered beneath the skins of the wizarding population. Especially to express concern so publicly. However, the Death Eaters had made that move at the start. They upset the delicate balance between the—quiet, but fervent—pureblood elitists and the growing population of muggleborns and halfbloods by vandalizing, kidnapping, and murdering; by proclaiming their views out loud, through violence. The wizarding population was poised on tenterhooks, bracing for the next scare.

The important question was: would the people be scared into submission? Or into action?

Feeling as though he had just tipped the first domino, Peter set the paper down and went to bed.