A man stood guard by the door. There was a gun on his hip, and a black device in his hand with an antenna sticking out of it.

Blithe removed the disillusionment charm from himself and watched the man's eyes widen in alarm, hand reaching for the deadly weapon.

"What the- who are you? Stop right there!"

"Guns," said Blithe lightly, walking towards the man at a leisurely pace, "are among your kind's most foul inventions. A device with no purpose other than to inflict pain. To take life."

The man lifted the gun, levelling it right at Blithe. "Not one more step!"

"And yet, it serves as a most elegant representation of your kind's limitations. Where there is a problem, you kill it. No finesse, no diplomacy. Just the flashy pretences of a creature no different from the apes that crawled out of the mud."

A gunshot, but Blithe had moved suddenly, so quickly that the man's eyes didn't flicker back to him until Blithe's hand was around his throat, lifting him off the ground. The gun went off again, Blithe heard it just by his ear, and with his other hand he grabbed the man's wrist and pushed it until the barrel of the gun was touching the man's temple.

"You like inflicting pain, don't you?" he whispered. "A part of you, try as you might to conceal it, to smother and bury it within yourself, wants to thrash around, to bathe in the blood, see hurt in another's eyes."

The man gurgled, his face red.

"You don't have to admit it. I've seen it for myself. Experienced it." He dropped the man, watched him fall to his knees, suck in deep lungfuls of air. The gun clattered to the floor, as did the black device from his other hand. A voice rang out from the black device, distorted and grating, and Blithe could barely make out any words. "I will grant you, though, your innovation in the absence of magic is impressive. What do you call this device?"

"A walkie-talkie," the man gasped.

Blithe raised his eyebrows. "I take that back. Walkie-talkie? Merlin, Muggles really are dull."

The man's hand was crawling towards the gun. Blithe let it get close enough, let his fingers graze the metal, before grabbing a fistful of the man's hair and yanking his head back. He took his wand out and held it to the man's throat. "I want to kill you," he said, gazing into his face. "I'm sorely tempted. But it would cause some unnecessary complications. A memory charm will have to suffice. You'll live the rest of your meaningless life without ever knowing how little you deserve it. Without ever remembering this feeling of being powerless, this insurmountable truth of your kind's inferiority." There was no understanding in the man's eyes. No comprehension or appreciation for the weight behind Blithe's words. Just the fear of a cattle stuck in the crosshairs of some untouchable predator. That would have to be enough, Blithe supposed with a sigh. "Obliviate."

The eyes clouded over, and the man sagged. Blithe left him on the ground and opened the door. The Muggle Prime Minister looked up from his desk, frowned at him. "Can I help you?"

Blithe closed the door behind him. Looked immediately at the portrait hanging on the wall, of a man with a silver wig. The man's eyes widened. "You. You are not authorized to be here. I must alert the Minister-"

"Morgan Bulstrode is currently unavailable," said Blithe lightly. "And he was never the Minister."

"What is he busy with that he would send you in his place?" the man asked, sounding suspicious.

"He is busy dealing with the consequences of his actions. You will not be seeing him again."

"What's going on here?" asked the Prime Minister, looking flummoxed. "Are you one of them? One of those magicians?"

"Wizards," Blithe said quietly.

"Yes, yes. What's this about Bulstrode? Was he sacked?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

At that, the man with the silver wig had heard enough and made to leave his portrait from its side, presumably to check into his portrait at the Ministry. Blithe raised his wand to the portrait, his sleeve whipping from the swiftness of the movement, and there was a flash of light. The man froze in his frame, so still one might think he was only a Muggle painting.

"Do you think memory charms work on portraits?" he asked the Minister, tilting his head, wand still lifted.

"I- I haven't the slightest."

"Hm. Certainly an ordinary charm won't suffice. But perhaps if I augment it a little bit…" He closed his eyes, streamlining his thoughts into a spell, shaping and moulding a new memory charm through intent and deliberation. When he was done he opened his eyes, and there was another flash of light. The portrait seemed untouched, but that was to be expected. Satisfied, he pocketed his wand. "That should do the trick, I think. I overdid it, so he might not even remember his identity after this, but there's nothing to be done about that."

The Minister was still staring at him, the papers and folders sitting on his desk abandoned.

"So, my dear Minister, what brings you into the office at three in the morning on the first day of the new year?"

The Minister folded his arms. "Business. Reports and… and things."

"Is that right? You didn't get into another fight with your wife?"

The Minister's brow furrowed, and he looked astonished then quickly outraged. "How do you know that? That's my private- that's personal! How dare you spy on me?"

Blithe snorted and sat in the only empty chair, facing the Minister from across the desk. "It's common knowledge, my friend. Your bodyguards know about your marriage problems. Did you really sleep in the office on Christmas day?" He held up a hand. "Don't answer. I saw their memories. I know you did, you sad, sad man."

The Minister colored, his face boiling. "My business is none of your concern. Who are you, anyway?"

"Who I am doesn't matter. Not really. I'm just here to make sure everything goes according to plan. Bulstrode's, ah, removal from office was unexpected. The plan has accelerated somewhat."

"Plan? What plan?"

"Can I rely on your discretion, Minister? Can I depend on your ability to co-operate and do as you're told?" The Minister opened his mouth and Blithe laughed. "Who am I kidding? Of course I can't. Imperio."

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Marlene woke up on the morning of January first, and took in a deep breath of Sirius Black. She opened her eyes wide. Shit.

He lay next to her, his head resting on her pillow, his black hair as tousled and unruly as ever. She distinctly remembered running her hands through that hair only hours earlier.

Shit.

His eyes were closed and he was sleeping soundly. Angelically. Oh, this would not do. This would not do at all.

She elbowed him hard in the side.

"Argh!" He bolted upright and looked around frantically before settling his gaze on her, his expression reproachful. "Good morning to you, too, McKinnon."

"Out," she said, panic crawling into her pounding head. "You need to go, Black. Now."

She rolled out of bed. She wore only knickers and a loose shirt - his shirt from last night, she realized with a groan - and with all the dignity she could muster, she put her hands on her hips. "I'm serious, Black, you can't be here."

He looked affronted at first, which turned into a strong, venomous scowl. "You're unceremoniously kicking me out, just like that? You came onto me last night, McKinnon. I was happy to simply go along with it. Don't you do this now. I was perfectly fine with us just being friends."

"You think I wanted this to happen?"

"You said, and I quote, 'I've really wanted this to happen, Black.' How else was I supposed to interpret that?"

She colored. She did remember saying that. "Look, it doesn't matter. I just need you to leave right now."

He rolled out of her bed, looking furious. He was naked, and she kept her eyes determinedly on his face. And then on his chest, and his abdomen, then trailing down to marvel at- his face. She was looking at his face and nothing else. She didn't want to guess how red she'd gotten, and luckily Sirius was looking anywhere but at her as he fumed silently.

He picked his pants up off the floor and slipped into them, before he finally looked at her flatly. "I need my shirt."

She bit her lip. "Do you?"

"What?"

"Right," she said quickly, "your shirt. Okay. Turn around, would you?" He turned and she tugged his shirt off her light frame, threw it over to him. She quickly grabbed one of her own tops strewn haphazardly on the ground and pulled it on. "You can turn back around now."

He didn't bother. Simply shook his head and walked to the door. "I can't believe you, McKinnon. I liked you, properly liked you, but you say we're only friends. Then you go and come onto me, make me think we're on the same page… and now you pull this? You're the last person I expected this rubbish from."

Suddenly, she wanted to explain herself.

"My parents will go ballistic if they see you," she said hurriedly. "It's a big house, but still. I can't take the risk. There's too much at stake."

He stopped and turned to look at her. Her face was still red, she could feel it. "What are you on about, McKinnon?"

"It's bigger than just me and you. Regardless of how I might feel, there's a reason that what happened last night shouldn't have happened, and why it can't happen again. Each time I've rejected you, I've never explained why. There's a reason. A reason why until last night, I've insisted we can't be anything more than just friends."

He raised an eyebrow. "Your parents won't approve of me. Is that it?"

"No."

"Because that's hardly a new problem for me. I've run into disapproving parents more times than I can count."

"It's not that."

"Are you worried that they'll like me too much? Because that's happened quite often too, I'm afraid. Just ask James. Although I doubt he'll admit it. He's still in denial, the poor thing."

"Black."

"It's really quite sad. I promise you, though, I can dial back the charm. It won't be easy, because it's not the sort of thing I have much control over - have you seen this face?"

"Black."

"But I'm more than happy to try. I like you, McKinnon, and I reckon you like me too. Why shouldn't two people who like each other just be tog-"

Marlene stomped her foot and sighed heavily. "Black."

"What?"

"I'm engaged."

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Regulus was in a dark room, deep under the ground. It was a winding maze of corridors down there, filled with Death Eaters and stale air, mold and spiders, all of the sickly things that thrived in the cold and the dark.

In this room with him were some of his classmates. Snape, Mulciber, Rosier, Travers, Dolohov Junior, and Avery. Elsewhere around the room were the faces of prolific Death Eaters such as Regulus' cousin Bellatrix, a couple of the Malfoys, Nott, Macnair, one of the Selwyns. In front of the teenagers was a body, unmoving. A brown sack covered its head, tied at the neck. From behind Regulus came Lord Voldemort's voice.

"You are all talented. All capable." His voice, without being raised, was chilling. A knife could have been run along Regulus' back with each word. "You have the purest of blood, too. Old blood. Noble." Though his footsteps made no noise, Regulus knew somehow that the Dark Lord was walking around them. He could feel it. "Joining our ranks is no small matter. It is the greatest honor, an irreversible commitment."

He stopped in front of them, and Regulus looked at him. His eyes looked almost scarlet by the light of the room's one lamp, which glowed with a dim green. His skin was stretched so tightly over his bones that he might as well have been a skull in a robe. He was a snake of a man, impossible and deadly and terrifying. Regulus swallowed.

"Today, before we finally, completely welcome you into our fold, I shall demonstrate to you just how irreversible and final this commitment is." He pointed to the body.

"The man before you thought he could betray us without consequences. He thought the mark on his arm is for show, and easily forgotten." He looked at Regulus then, right into his eyes. "Regulus. As you are a Black, I have no doubt about your dedication and willingness to serve. I am told, though, that you were not present at the battle of Síla."

Regulus licked his lips. "I was hesitant, my lord. My resolve was lacking. But now I am yours. I give all of myself to you."

Voldemort nodded like he'd expected this answer, and gestured to the body. "Then you shall demonstrate to us all. Kill this man, Regulus."

Regulus looked at the body. "He's… alive?"

"Oh, yes. Bella had strict instructions to leave him sane and breathing." Bellatrix pouted at his words from where she stood. "You shall do the honors, Regulus. Have you ever used the spell?"

He shook his head.

"It's quite simple," said Voldemort, in an encouraging, silky voice Regulus had never heard from him before. "I'm sure you know the words. All you have to do is mean them."

Regulus nodded. He reached for his wand, fumbled it. Pulled it out on the second try and pointed it at the man. Seconds passed. Regulus' mind went blank. No intent, no desire. He didn't have it in him.

Voldemort seemed to figure this out too, and sighed. "I made it quite easy for you. You didn't even have to look at his face, into his eyes. But perhaps you are a more practical learner. One who needs engagement." He flicked his wand, and the brown sack vanished from around the man's head. The other teens inhaled sharply and Regulus froze.

"Morgan Bulstrode," he whispered. "That's the Minister of Magic."

"Temporary Minister of Magic," Voldemort corrected. "And, much like Eugenia Jenkins before him, his time has now come to an abrupt and unfortunate end. In his absence, and with enough time and careful planning, his post will be filled by a man who we call Blithe."

"Is this Blithe one of ours?" asked Dolohov Junior.

"Oh, very much so. A most invaluable spy amongst our enemies. Certainly more useful than this traitor turned out to be." Voldemort turned his wand on the man once more, and Bulstrodes eyes opened. He sat bolt upright in a state of panic, looked around frantically. "Now, Regulus. Kill him."

Bulstrode snapped his head to them and bleated. "Have mercy! My lord, please! I would never betray you, I swear it!"

"Now, Regulus."

Bulstrode turned to Regulus, his eyes filling with tears. "Boy. Boy, please! I have a family. A daughter!"

"You have no children," said Lucious Malfoy, leaning against the wall and looking bored. "No family. No friends to miss you."

"I have a brother," said Bulstrode, still looking at Regulus with pleading, desperate eyes. "I have friends. I want to live, boy, please!"

There was no choice. Regulus knew there was no choice. What he had to do went against every instinct in his heart, but his mind knew better, knew the consequences for disobeying the Dark Lord. That is where he drew his intent from, so that when he finally said it, he meant it. "Avada Kedavra."

The room lit up for a brief moment, and then Bulstrode hit the ground once more, the life having left his body.

Voldemort was smiling, an evil, sick smile. "Well done, Regulus. Well done indeed."

There would be no disobeying the Dark Lord. Regulus knew that now. The rest of his life would see him obeying every order, fulfilling every request, and it was a fate that there could be no escape from. All this and more was made clear to him as he kneeled with the other teens in front of Voldemort, their forearms extended. Voldemort moved from arm to arm, tapping his wand to them and smiling cruelly as each boy hissed and cried out when that small patch of skin on their arms boiled and contorted.

When Regulus' turn came, there was one thing in particular that drove home to him that he could never, ever turn back now.

It was pain. Blinding, excruciating pain.

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Lily stared at the pile of dishes with pursed lips, and the pile of dishes stared back. In just a few weeks, she would turn seventeen. In a few weeks, she would never have to wash a dish by hand again. With only a flick of her wand, they would all be done. These past six years, every time Lily was faced with a pile of dishes her wand would call to her from her back pocket, begging to be used, and she would always have to refuse it. But not for much longer. Not for much longer…

"Oh, Lily, just get on with it," cajoled her mother as she walked through the kitchen. "It only takes so long because you waste so much time."

"In just a few weeks," Lily began-

"I know, dear. You'll just magic the dishes away. But until then, you really must make do."

"Just do what I do," said Mr Evans from the dining table. "Get a wife and daughter, and it's like the dishes aren't even there."

Mrs Evans looked at him. "Actually, Lily, don't worry about the dishes. Your father will take care of them."

Mr Evans blinked. "I will?"

"You will."

"But I'm not sure I know how to wash dishes."

"You'll pick it up, dear. You're awfully clever."

Lily simply shook her head and walked from the kitchen, smiling a little as Mr Evans stood from the table and tried to placate his wife. "I was joking, honest! Don't make me wash the dishes."

"No, you've reminded me how little housework you really do. Look at the floor, it's filthy."

"It's spotless," Mr Evans protested.

"It's filthy and you need to clean it."

Lily tuned her parents out and wandered over to the sitting room. She picked a book off the table and curled up on the couch. With her return to Hogwarts imminent, she was making sure to relish the quiet moments, as she knew that very soon they would once again be few and far between. She opened the book.

There was a knock on the door, two sharp raps.

Scowling, Lily put the book back down and got up, marched to the door. She opened it and stared.

"Alright, Evans?"

Oh, for Merlin's sake. Again?

"Potter," she said slowly, ignoring the way her heartbeat became suddenly erratic at the sight of the messy haired boy. "What are you doing here?"

His lips curved upwards. She'd kissed those lips the last time they'd been this close. "Just thought I'd pop by. There was something I wanted to ask you."

Oh, Merlin. Oh, no. She wasn't ready. She hadn't had time to think about this, it was too soon, it was-

"Is Marlene really engaged?"

She froze.

He was looking at her seriously.

"What?"

"It's just," he rubbed his neck, "Sirius went home with her on New Year's, and when they woke up yesterday morning she kicked him out and told him she's engaged. Is… is it true?"

Lily bit her lip, smothering her feelings, and chose her words carefully. "What else did Black tell you?"

"Aside from Marlene being engaged? Well-"

"Marlene's engaged?" Mrs Evans materialized by Lily's side in a flash. "How wonderful! Oh, that's so exciting! Hello, James. It's very nice to see you again."

James gave her a charming smile, but faltered when Lily's dad appeared on her other side.

"Potter," he said with narrowed eyes, folding his arms. "Have you come to steal my only daughter away again?"

"We have another daughter, dear," whispered his wife.

Mr Evans' eyes widened and he paled. "Shit, that's right."

James coughed pointedly while Mrs Evans gave her husband a sharp look for his language. "No, Mr Evans, I haven't."

"Please, Potter, call me sir," said Mr Evans.

Lily rolled her eyes. "He's not here to steal me away, Dad. He just wants to know something about Marlene."

"Yes, yes, we all want to know about Marlene," said Mrs Evans. "Please come in, James. I'll make tea, and then we can all hear Lily's story."

"This really isn't a group thing," said Lily flatly.

"Nonsense, Lily, James wants us there. Don't you, James?"

James hesitated. "Uh…"

"See? Now come on in, James. The sitting room's that way. How do you like your tea?"

He stepped in, looking unsure. "Sweet?"

"Wonderful. Any biscuit preferences?"

"Not really."

"Splendid. Lily, show him to the sitting room, won't you?"

If Lily had written a list of settings she'd least like to talk to James in only a day after kissing him, the sitting room with her parents would have been at the very, very bottom. She closed her eyes, mustering all her patience, and looked at James with a pained expression.

He gave her a reassuring look as they walked to the sitting room. "My parents are easily more mental than yours," he whispered, "so don't worry. If anything, I find this rather tame."

She smiled at him. He had a silver tongue, that boy.

Lily's dad had already sat and made himself comfortable, and was watching the two of them with a frown. "Lily," he said, "you sit over there. On the far couch. Potter, I want you next to me."

"Dad," she said through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry, Lily, but it's for your own good."

James smiled a little. "No problem." He sat down next to Lily's father, and Lily couldn't have felt more uncomfortable about it.

She watched them from her seat, watched her mother walk in with a tray of tea and biscuits, watched James thank her, smile and make a joke, and her mother laugh and pat him on the back. Her father said something dumb, and James said something awkward with a smile, and slowly Lily found that there was actually something that seemed... comfortable about it. Bizarrely, by some stroke of brilliant luck, James seemed to fit right in with her nutball parents. Or maybe it wasn't luck. Maybe it was just James.

But oh, she really wished her parents weren't there right then.

"So," said Mrs Evans, settling down next to her, "tell us, Lily. What's this about Marlene being engaged? She's a wonderful girl, but she's a bit young, isn't she?"

Lily breathed heavily. "Seeing as Black went and told you," she said to James, "I'm assuming that Mar's fine with it being out now. It could only have been a secret for so long anyway, so I guess it's fine to tell you all. Yes, Marlene is engaged. She has been for quite some time now." She surveyed James again. "How much did she tell Black about it?"

James shrugged. "Sirius wasn't too keen to talk about it with me. He just came home briefly, looking all wound up, and told me the one thing. Marlene is engaged. Then he turned on the spot and apparated to who knows where. I need to know what's going on."

Lily nodded. She'd expected as much. "I can imagine he didn't take it well. Alice and I didn't, when she told us back in Fourth Year. It's… a frustrating story."

"Frustrating how?"

Lily sighed, and tried to think back to how Marlene had started it back then.

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Arranged marriages were old hat to Pure-blood families. Ever since the famed marriage of Achernar Black to Telephassa, the last daughter of the legendary Peverell family, they had become something of a tradition. The purity of one's blood was deciphered not just by how far back their lineage could go, but also by the specific union of their parents. Gaunt to a Selwyn, Prewett to an Olivander, Potter to a Greengrass. Where before, two Pure-bloods could be just as pure as one another, suddenly they were not. The union of Rodolphus Lestrange and Bellatrix Black was seen as better, purer, than the marriage of Amos Diggery and Belle MacDougal.

So far as that scale of purity went, the McKinnon family ranked somewhere close to the bottom. They were Pure-bloods, but the McKinnon name was nastily common among Muggles. It could only mean that someone in the family, a long time ago, had messed up, casting doubt upon all future generations of McKinnons forever more.

Rather dramatic, isn't that, Lily dear?

That's just how she told us the story, Mum.

Hang on, Evans. Lestrange and Black, and Diggery and MacDougal, they all only got married recently. How could she have told you this story in Fourth Year?

I added that part to illustrate the idea for you all better, Potter.

And watch who you call Evans, boy. We're all Evanses in this house.

Sorry, sir.

As I was saying…

With the McKinnon name decreasing in value and repute with each generation, it would become increasingly difficult for a McKinnon to wed a Pure-blood of higher pedigree, only worsening their dilemma. So it was that Marlene and her parents found themselves to be the last living McKinnons with pure blood. Unfortunately, this raised a new issue. The horde of generational wealth that every Pure-blood family amassed over the centuries, or in some cases, millenia, was usually stored in a family vault, deep under the ground, in the criss-crossing tunnels that made up Gringotts bank.

However, in the case of the McKinnons, everything that was not currently sitting in their large, mostly empty house, was lying in the vaults of a variety of other Pure-blood families as part of a deal. This deal was made by Marlene's great-grandfather, Ophiuchi McKinnon. Realizing the direction the McKinnon name was going in, he contacted various Pure-blood families before more damage could be done, offering them each large portions of the McKinnon inheritance should they agree for some specific descendants along the line to be wed. In this fashion, Marlene's father was married to her mother, as was her father's father before him.

So Marlene had been engaged before she'd even been born.

As she was the last in the line of McKinnons, when she would be wed, the McKinnon name would, once and for all, be cleansed from the breaths of Pure-blood conversation. But its legacy would live on in her descendants. Their surnames, it was decided, would be Ärger.

Marlene Ärger, eh? Hmm. That has absolutely no ring to it.

That's what we told her. But she didn't care.

When Marlene had first met William Ärger, she'd been instantly enamored. They were thirteen, and both quite nervous to meet each other. Marlene had blushed, and he had stammered. They went out, without supervision from their parents, to a Quidditch match. Tornados playing the Kestrels. Alone together, the ice broke quickly, and they had some fun. He was nice, and funny. His smile always reached his eyes.

"Call me Will," he told her once they reached the stadium.

"Okay," she said, smiling shyly. The smell of hot food wafted through the air, and her stomach grumbled. She colored quickly.

"Are you hungry?"

"No!"

"We can share something if you want. There's a-"

Alright, we get the picture. He's nice, and they hit it off.

Yes, but there are a couple of really cute moments-

Evans, we don't care about the cute moments.

For once, I agree with the boy, Lily. What happened next?

Urgh. Fine.

But as time progressed, Marlene's view of the whole thing started to grow negative. Lily and Alice's insistence that she deserved to find someone herself, without her family's dumb rules, probably didn't help matters.

"You guys are right," Marlene said heatedly, pacing about their dormitory midway through Fifth Year. "Who are they to make that sort of choice for me? Will's nice, but why can't I have the freedom to marry whomever I please?"

The girls had chorused their agreement.

Her relationship with Will stayed pleasant. Each time they met, they talked amiably, and she made no mention of her misgivings. But it was clear to the girls that Marlene was no longer taking any pleasure in meeting him each time, perhaps as it was a constant reminder that her future wasn't her own. Not really.

And recent events certainly didn't help matters.

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"The fact that her and Black were so close did worry me a little," Lily admitted. "The possibility that maybe there was something going on, I mean. But until New Year's, I had never actually believed that it would happen."

James smirked at her. "I told you. I told you there was something going on that night, didn't I?"

She rolled her eyes, smiling a little. "Yes, Potter. You told me."

Mr Evans looked between the two with a small frown. "What does Marlene look like again? I can't seem to remember."

"You've seen Marlene, Dad. She's come over a few times."

"Do you have a picture or something? Just to refresh my memory?"

Lily grimaced and nodded. "I suppose." She stood, and walked from the sitting room. "I'll be right back."

The moment her red hair whipped out of sight, Mr Evans rounded on James. "What are your intentions with my daughter?"

"What?"

"We're being completely serious now, Potter. I see how you look at her. How she looks at you. What are your intentions?"

"I-" James swallowed. "I intend to date her, sir. I like her a lot, and if she likes me then I'm going to ask her out and date her."

"Even if I don't give you my blessing?"

James gave a dry smile. "With all due respect, if Lily wants to do something, there isn't a damn thing anyone can do to stop her."

Mr Evans raised an eyebrow, and then chuckled. "You know her too well."

"Yeah."

The man looked at his wife, who hadn't spoken in all this and was regarding her husband with an amusedly resigned expression. "He got me," said Mr Evans. "He got me with that line. Damn it." He turned back to James, looking pained. "You had better treat her right, boy."

"I will."

"Because if you do anything to make her unhappy, I will-"

"It doesn't matter what you want to do, because Lily will have long since killed me herself," said James before he could stop himself.

Mrs Evans snorted. Mr Evans stared at him for a moment before speaking. "You're cheeky, aren't you?"

"That's what they tell me."

A sigh. "I like you. Damn it, James, as much as I wish I didn't, I do. I like you."

"Is now a bad time?" asked Lily, standing and watching them from the room's entrance, eyebrow raised, a moving photo of Marlene in hand. "Because I can come back later."

James laughed and got to his feet. "Please, don't leave on my account. I'd best be off anyway, I had only come here for a brief chat."

"You sure? Mum, do you want to tell Potter how much you like him, too?"

"Oh, James knows," said Mrs Evans, smiling good-naturedly at James. "I tell him every time I see him."

"You've seen him twice."

"And so I've told him two times."

"I told him two times in one sentence," bragged Mr Evans from the couch. "Big deal."

Lily shook her head once more at her parents and led James to the door. "Sure you can't stay?"

"Yeah," he said. "I've got to take care of some stuff at home, seeing as Mum and Dad are over at the Prewetts' for tea and Sirius has conveniently vanished."

"How responsible of you," said Mrs Evans, following them to the door. "Lily, I hope you demonstrate this responsibility when you have to look after the house while your father and I are on holiday."

"Yes, Mum," Lily droned.

"Where are you going?" asked James.

"On a cruise," called Mr Evans from the sitting room. "A wine cruise for our wedding anniversary!"

"He got tired of me telling him that we never do anything for our anniversary," said Mrs Evans. "So he just went out and bought tickets without telling me, and now I have to go."

"I bet you're really excited, Mum," smirked Lily. "Don't lie."

"Maybe," said Mrs Evans with a small smile. "But it means that we'll miss you when you're on Easter break, because your father can't plan properly."

"Love you too, honey," Mr Evans called.

"Dear, get off that couch. You have some dishes to do, remember?"

As Lily's parents argued, she turned to James and grinned. "See you at school then, Potter."

He nodded and returned her grin. "See you at school, Evans."

They both leaned in, and her parents stopped talking suddenly, and Lily veered to the side, kissing James on the cheek.

He looked amused, and winked at her. Then, without another word, he stepped outside. The door closed behind him.

"You know, Lily, you two have some palpable chemistry."

"Dad," said Lily, her eyes closed, "please just go wash the dishes."

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Taureau Barkley moved through the Ministry, a ghost among all the people with their fancily embroidered robes. He followed a rather fat man with a top hat, then broke off and darted into an empty elevator before the doors could close. He got off on the next floor and flitted between pillars and walls.

Because of one Caradoc Dearborn, his description had been circulating recently. Taureau had to be careful. Gone were the exquisite suits and aviator sunglasses, to be replaced by loose, drab, and intentionally forgettable black robes. At least for today, at any rate.

This wasn't the first way in which Dearborn had inconvenienced him. For days and days, Taureau had been plagued by one specific memory from the battle of Síla. Of a man with a blurry face defeating him in single combat. It wasn't until after New Year's Eve, when Taureau had found Morgan Bulstrode in Portugal, attempting to strike a deal with a man in disguise alongside two school kids, that it had struck him. That man, on both occasions, was Caradoc Dearborn.

Taureau reached the Auror Department, slipped past the receptionist before she could even look up.

His knowledge of Dearborn consisted of a few things. The first was that Dearborn was an Auror. That much was common knowledge, as he'd had some acclaimed success over the last few years. The second was that Dearborn was a Death Eater. Taureau had marched on Síla alongside him, and that had been his last memory of the man until recently.

The third thing was the Dearborn was actually working against the Death Eaters. For whatever reason, he had attacked Taureau back in Síla, and had been in the process of taking down Bulstrode on New Year's.

Taureau didn't really care if Dearborn betrayed the Death Eaters. Taureau wasn't a Death Eater himself. His services had simply been hired, and he always followed orders.

Today, Taureau wasn't at the Ministry on anyone's orders. Today was personal.

He could have told his employer that Dearborn was a double-agent, of course. That would have been the simplest thing. But that would also mean that the matter would be taken out of Taureau's hands. No, Taureau wanted to do this himself.

He walked past the office of Emmett Fawley, not stopping to check in like he was used to doing whenever he came here. Instead, Taureau walked deeper, reached the perfect spot.

Bartemius Crouch, an official from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was talking to another hard-faced man not far away. There was Jedidiah Hobbart, from the Wizengamot, frowning down at some papers. A Junior Minister of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, Cornelius Fudge, walked in, too. Taureau smiled. This reception couldn't have been better if he'd planned for it.

Dearborn would run, frantically and desperately, as he was hunted. Only then would Taureau end him.

He placed a thin vial on the ground. Inside was an opaque thread, silvery white - his memory of Dearborn marching with the Death Eaters, a particularly incriminating moment as the auror gave a sinister smile, lifted his wand, and put the taunting mask over his face. Altered, of course. Dearborn hadn't actually offered that sinister smile, but Taureau reckoned it really added to the effect.

He twirled his wand in the air, and slipped away. He sped stealthily back through the Department, hearing gasps and loud voices behind him as people started to notice his handiwork.

Taureau smiled to himself once more, his day's work done, content to simply watch and lie in wait until the perfect moment presented itself.

He left the Auror Department, all those officials and ministers pointing at the air in his wake, at the large, silvery letters floating around at eye level.

CARADOC DEARBORN IS A DEATH EATER

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Alice shut the oven with her hip, and carried the steaming tray to the table.

"Muffins," Frank said happily, reaching for one.

Alice took her oven mitts off and slapped his hand with them. "Not yet. They need to cool."

Looking her straight in the eyes, Frank grabbed his wand and flicked it. The muffins stopped steaming. Alice prodded one gently, and it was just the right kind of warm.

"Well, alright," she said grudgingly. "Go on, then."

Grinning, Frank grabbed a cupcake and bit into it. "Oh, Merlin," he said, closing his eyes. "I'm so glad my girlfriend can cook."

"How long are you going to keep doing that?" she asked, amused.

"Doing what?"

"Calling me your girlfriend at every opportunity. When my parents answered the door this morning, I heard you say, 'I'm here to visit Alice, my girlfriend.' Don't get me wrong, I think it's very sweet. But also funny."

"Well, you see, Alice, my girlfriend-" she snorted, "-the very thought that you are my girlfriend now, after all this time, is still so thrilling, so mind-boggling, so invigorating, that I can't help but mention it wherever possible, just to hear it out loud. Hearing it is enough to make my heart race, and I think it always will be."

Alice surveyed him with a raised brow. "You're so cheesy," she said, putting the mitts back on and grabbing the tray again. "You were never like this when we were just friends."

"It's much too late to look back now, Alice, my girlfriend. It's a new day! The world will never be the same!"

"Mhm." She started carrying the tray from the room. "I'm going to offer some of these to the old ones. You better quit this talk when I get back, or I might throw up in your mouth."

He sobered. "Duly noted."

Alice stepped out onto the front porch, where four adults sat around a wooden table, having their tea. "Muffins are ready."

"Oh, how lovely," said Mrs Potter, lighting up. "Thank you, Alice."

"It smells terrific," said Mr Prewett, taking a whiff of them.

Alice put the tray on the table, and Mrs Prewett delicately picked one up and took a bite, then made a satisfied noise. "Oh, Alice, you've done a wonderful job."

Alice smiled. "Thanks."

Mr Potter nudged his wife. "How come our boys never cook for us?"

Mrs Potter sighed. "We didn't raise them well enough, I expect."

"Well that's hardly fair," he complained. "We've only had Sirius for a year."

"I'll have a word with his parents then, shall I?" she said. "Right after I beat them senseless, see how they like being on the receiving end of things."

"Euphemia," he said quietly, "that's a brilliant idea."

"We're not actually going to do it."

"What? Why not?"

"What kind of example would that set for the boys?"

"A very good one, I expect. An example of efficiency and strength."

Mr Prewett sighed exasperatedly. "Fleamont, take a muffin already. Alice is waiting for you."

Alice smiled awkwardly.

"Ah, that's right!" Mr Potter took a muffin, and bit into it.

Not for the first time, it struck Alice just how similar the man looked to his son. She wondered if James had told his parents that they had dated, if briefly. Probably not.

"Oh, Merlin, my son's an idiot for breaking up with you," said Mr Potter through a mouthful of food. "That's really good."

Alice colored.

"What he means is that we're both very happy for you and Frank," Mrs Potter said, smiling at her warmly.

"Thank you."

"Though I'd much rather you date our son again."

"Right."

"He's not that bad, really. Once you get over the knobbly knees, there's so much to appreciate. What do you think?"

Alice stared at the two, while her own parents watched her pityingly. She opened her mouth, not knowing what to say, and was saved from having to attempt a response when a brown tawny owl, one of the school ones, came swooping down suddenly, landing on the table with a prim flutter of its wings. It stuck its leg out to Mr and Mrs Potter, bequeathing them the piece of parchment attached.

Mrs Potter took the parchment and the couple leaned in, scanning it quickly. "Oh," she said. "Is it that time already?"

"It seems we must be off," said Mr Potter, getting to his feet and finishing off his muffin. He offered his hand to his wife and she allowed herself to be pulled up.

"Lovely seeing you all, as always," she said, smiling at the Prewetts. "You must come round to ours one of these days, we've completely redone the garden."

With their hands clasped, they looked ready to apparate. Mr Potter glanced at Alice one last time. "I hope you change your mind, Alice. We're much richer than the Longbottoms, you know."

"Once again," said Mrs Potter loudly, "I apologize for my husband."

With a crack, they turned on the spot and vanished.

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In a town not far from Hogsmeade village, the man sat on a bench, alone in the afternoon sun. In front of him, the lake glimmered, shiny and still, looking like an unthinkably large and precious gem.

Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange approached from behind, wands drawn.

"Do you know who I am?" the man asked, turning his dark haired head and fixing them with an expressionless gaze. The two stopped where they were.

"Harold Minchum," said Rabastan. "An Auror."

"You've led us on a merry chase all day," Rodolphus told him. "I'm curious, did you know we were following you?"

Minchum's expression didn't shift. "One does not last long in my line of work if they cannot detect two bumbling fools running along behind."

Rabaston growled and raised his wand, but Rodolphus stayed his hand.

"I see. As expected of the second-in-command to Sawyer Hughes."

Rabastan sniggered.

"Is that what this is about, then? Because I am number two to the man who will most likely be our next Minister of Magic, you've taken it upon yourselves to bump me off?"

Rodolphus smiled, the sort of smile that said he knew something the other man didn't. "Simply following orders, I'm afraid. Great plans are in motion, and a certain someone has decided that we cannot have you getting in the way of things you have no business meddling with. Your time is up."

Minchum stood, so slowly that it had to be on purpose, as though he were testing them. "I have files of the two of you sitting on my desk, you know."

"We're flattered," said Rabastan. "But that won't do you a lot of good."

"You've cast an anti-apparition jinx on this place, haven't you?"

The brothers grinned.

"Goodness, that really is your favorite move, then."

"We've gotten some good results from it over the years, yes."

Minchum nodded. "An impressive kill-count."

"Oh, yes," said Rodolphus, smiling. "And it's about to-"

Rodolphus was blasted off his feet before he could finish, and he hit the ground hard. Breathless, he rolled over and got up, cursed as he watched his brother trade spells with the Auror.

"Avada Ked-" he quickly cut himself off and dodged to the side as a jet of red light streaked towards him. Minchum dueled Rabastan with a look of intense concentration on his face, and spared another glance at Rodolphus, fired another jet of light at him. Rodolphus dodged again, and ran forwards. "Avada Kedavra!"

Minchum dodged the green light, fired a spell that flew within an inch of Rabastan's head. Rodolphus joined his brother, snarling as he fired another killing curse at their opponent. The brothers got into a rhythm, and Minchum took a step back. The man's dark eyes were blank even as he was pushed back, and he looked almost bored. He reached the lake's edge, his boots a hair's breadth from the water's glittering surface, and held his ground. The brothers continued to advance, their wandwork quick. They were too good for him.

But Minchum hadn't gained his reputation without warrant. With a flick of his wand, a bright light flashed, and Rodolphus and Rabastan were pushed back a few steps. There was a splash, and when the light cleared there were ripples on the lake's surface. Running forwards, Rodolphus looked into the water and saw Minchum, not far under. Rabastan shot a killing curse at the figure, but the jet of light slowed once it passed through the water's sheen and quickly petered out. Rodolphus thought he could see Minchum wave his wand under the surface. Then the water swirled and churned and raged, like a whirlpool had come into being, and from the middle of the torrent shot up a blue beast, up into the air, a beast of frothing water and furious current. It resembled a sea serpent, with skin of flowing spray and eyes of foamy pools. It opened its mouth and roared, the roar of the ocean.

"Finite Incantatem," yelled Rodolphus.

The beast turned its head to him, opened its mouth wider still, and dove at him, down and down and down came those jaws, and Rodolphus closed his eyes, bracing himself for the-

Splash, like many buckets of water being thrown over his head at once. He was instantly soaked to the bone. He opened his eyes. Beside him, Rabastan had caught much of the beast's spray too, looking just as soaked. They both turned back to the water's surface.

Minchum had disappeared.

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Caradoc Dearborn walked into Dumbledore's office, nodded to those already gathered.

"Alright, Professor. I took the day off work for this, so I hope it's important." He took a look at Harold Minchum and frowned. The man's hair was frizzy, as though wettened and then hastily dried. His clothes smelled. "Have you been swimming, Harold?"

"I was attacked," said Harold. "By the Lestrange brothers."

Caradoc frowned. "Do you know why?"

"It seems to me that they were simply seeking to get rid of their obstacles. With Sawyer and myself out of the way, Fawley and Bulstrode will have a clear path to power."

"Do we know if Sawyer is safe?" asked Fleamont Potter, standing with his wife by Dumbledore's desk.

"He is," said Alastor Moody. "I checked in with him before I came here."

"He will need constant protection," said Dedalus Diggle, a usually excitable man who now had steel in his eyes. "As will you, Harold."

Harold nodded. "If we can spare the manpower, then it couldn't hurt. But this raises a new concern. What if both Sawyer and I are killed? We cannot let Bulstrode and Fawley seize power."

"I agree," said Dumbledore. "So should the worst case scenario come into being, who should we back for the job of Minister, after Sawyer and yourself?"

Anton Windstrum spoke up, standing beside Professor McGonagall. "I think it's obvious, Headmaster. It has to be you."

Dumbledore shook his head firmly. "I have made it abundantly clear many times, I shall not be the Minister of Magic."

"Come now, Albus," said Euphemia Potter. "We all know your stance on the matter, but when duty calls-"

"My duty is to this school, Euphemia."

"Albus," said McGonagall, "if not you, then… who?"

"I know who," said Caradoc.

All faces turned to look at him. One face in particular paled, and Caradoc grinned.

"And I think Dumbledore is in agreement with me."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "It makes the most sense."

The two turned to look at the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"Absolutely not," said Anton, shaking his head. "I refuse. There, it's over. Dumbledore refused, now I refuse. Who's next? Dedalus? Will you give it a go?"

Caradoc looked at his best friend with amusement. "Anton, you know you're the obvious choice. You almost entered politics yourself when we left school."

"Almost," said Anton loudly. "I wanted to be the Minister of Magic as a teenager, yes. I prepared myself for it, was groomed for it. But I got tangled up with Morgan Bulstrode and his lot, and I've wanted nothing to do with politics ever since. I travelled the world for five years, for heaven's sake! Have you all forgotten that? Just to get away from that scene, I took a five year break from the country!"

"But now you're back," said Dumbledore quietly.

"I'm back because you offered me this job. That's it."

"Yet you are here, in this room, Anton. What we are doing is not a job, not something we want to do. It is something we have to do. I think you've realized this."

"Find someone else."

"You are someone else, Anton," said Caradoc. Anton looked at him, frustration clear on his face. "You know that it has to be you."

They stared each other down for a few seconds. Caradoc saw the decision being made in his friend's eyes, on his face. Anton closed his eyes, took a breath. Then he opened them. "Alright. I'll do it."

Everyone in the room heaved a sigh of relief.

"It's only in the worst case, anyway," said Caradoc supportively. "Sawyer and Harold aren't dropping dead any time soon. Just look at Harold. Look how handsome he is!"

Harold didn't even twitch, his face as expressionless as ever.

"Yeah, yeah," Anton said, running a hand through his hair and sounding tired.

"With that matter resolved," said Dumbledore, "it is time to address why I have summoned you all here today." They all straightened and turned to look at him. "This war is unrelenting, and only growing more and more fast paced. Our enemies have dark things stirring on the horizon, and we are struggling to keep up as it is."

He stood from his desk, tall and proud. A warrior.

"Voldemort has his army," he said. "It's well past time we assembled our own."