James had been thinking of Lily when it happened. At some point over the Easter break, surely, it would be acceptable for him to stop by her place. They were friends, after all. And her parents loved him. She would be happy to see him, he should definitely stop by her place. The sooner the better, in fact. Was his analysis on the matter impacted at all by the feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was missing from his life when she wasn't with him? Perhaps. But also they were friends, and that was the reasoning he was running with.
He was grabbing a cloak and pondering how mad she'd be if he barged into her house at eleven o'clock at night when he heard it.
A crashing, a shattering, of something into pieces, and then the shattering of those pieces.
James sprinted past the House-elves and into the hall by the stairs to see a chandelier, what had been a chandelier at any rate, lying in thousands of little glass and crystal shards on the marble floor.
"Dad had levitated that," James said to no-one at all, frowning. "His charms don't simply wear off."
"Um…"
James glanced around. The House-elves had gathered before him, looking up at him with duty in their eyes. Something else, too. Grief.
"It seems," said one of them, Fidget, with his wide blue eyes and squeaky voice, "that our ownership has changed."
James frowned. "What?"
As one, the elves lowered themselves and bowed before him, foreheads and floppy ears touching the ground. "Master."
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
It was the peace of knowing he was exactly where he was supposed to be that brought the dumb grin to Sirius' face.
"What are you smiling about?" asked Marlene.
They lay on her bed. Her head was nestled in the crook of his neck, her nose touching his cheek, delicate fingers splayed against his bare chest.
"This," he said, kissing her forehead. "Right now, there's not a single other thing in the world that I want. This is perfection."
She shifted upwards so their lips were level, a hair's breadth apart, her eyes twinkling deviously. "Is that right?" Her slender leg slipped between his. "There's nothing you want?"
"Well," Sirius whispered, grabbing a buttock-
The door burst open and Sirius' head was shoved down, a blanket thrown over him.
"Mum, I'm naked!"
She was. Sirius' cheek was pressed against her belly, rising and falling as she breathed. The air was hot.
"Oh, I'm not looking, dear," came the voice of Marlene's mother. Sirius had never seen her before. How could he, when he was shoved under a blanket when the opportunity arose? "Your father wants you to join us for breakfast today, as we didn't see much of you yesterday after we picked you up. What did Lily want, anyway, on your first day back from school? Is she alright?"
Marlene hadn't gone to Lily's the previous day, of course. She had... visited Sirius at Potter Manor. She'd visited him again in the gardens, visited quite quickly on the street, before they'd settled at her place. Where they visited once more.
"Lily's good," said Marlene quickly. "Is that all, Mum?"
"Yes, yes, I'll leave you. Will you be down for breakfast soon?"
"In a bit."
"Okay, dear." The door closed.
Sirius burst from under the blankets and sat up, sucking in some fresh air. "I still think you should just introduce me to her."
"You know I can't," she said, sitting up with him. "In case you've forgotten, I'm technically betrothed."
Sirius grimaced. He hated being reminded.
"Not even technically," she continued. "Literally. I'm literally betrothed."
A conversation they'd had many times, and one they both grew weary of, was prevented by an owl slipping through a window and into the room. It was James' owl, and Sirius stretched his arm out. It landed, stuck out its leg, and Sirius removed the offered piece of parchment, torn and written on hastily.
"What does James want?" Marlene asked.
Sirius read it, re-read it, perfection crashing down around him.
Marlene leaned close and read it over his shoulder, and she gasped.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
The password was sweetroot liquorice, and James stepped past the stone gargoyle, strode up the moving staircase, and burst into Dumbledore's office.
Dumbledore, Harold Minchum, and Professor McGonagall stood around his desk, pouring over many sheets of parchment. They all turned and stared at him. "Potter," said McGonagall, "what in the world are you doing here at this hour?"
James ignored the question, looked straight at Dumbledore. "Where are they? Where are my parents?"
Confusion was a response rarely captured on Dumbledore's face, but now the old man looked at James with the furrowed brows of bemusement. "They're off on a mission with Caradoc Dearborn. What's the matter, James?"
James growled and strode forward. McGonagall stuck a hand out, keeping him at bay, seeming to sense James' churning coalescence of many erratic emotions. "Potter," she started.
The fireplace lit up, roared and flashed green, and Dedalus Diggle collapsed onto the floor.
They all stared before rushing over to him, James' fear being slowly confirmed hint by little hint.
"Dedalus," said Harold, crouching by the man, "what's wrong? What happened?"
"Dead," croaked Dedalus. "They're all dead."
Dumbledore looked quickly at James before back down at Dedalus. "You need to tell us what happened. Can you do that?"
"It was… a trap… he-" With a last groan, the task proved too much, and Dedalus passed out on the carpet.
Dumbledore took out his wand, placed it to Dedalus' temple, and drew it away. With it came a thin, silvery wisp of something, turning into a strand, before the last of it snapped off from Dedalus' temple and hung from Dumbledore's wand, twirling in the air.
Dumbledore moved swiftly to a shallow stone basin, decorated with strange symbols carved into it, floating in the air by a number of metal instruments. "Come along," he said.
McGonagall and Harold followed him over, and James went too, not caring whether or not the invitation was extended to him. If it hadn't been, Dumbledore gave no hint of it on his face when James joined them by the strange dish - a Pensieve, James realized, as Dumbledore dropped the strand of memory into it and the silvery thread sank and swirled and spun, rippled, and then a sheen spread out over the surface of the Pensieve with moving figures running across it.
"My parents," James murmured.
Dumbledore lowered his head into the bowl, and in a split-second his body shot towards the surface, and he was gone. One by one, they followed him in.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
A corridor, dirty, dimly lit.
"I'm not carrying him."
James looked around. Beside him were McGonagall and Harold. Ahead, Dumbledore stood, arms crossed, watching the scene before them.
Dedalus lay still on the ground, Sawyer Hughes bending over him, Caradoc Dearborn and Anton Windstrum by his side.
"We can't leave him with all these Death Eaters, 'Doc," said Anton.
James looked closer at their surroundings.
Unmoving forms of many, many Death Eaters littered the ground, wands discarded. The walls were singed with missed curses. A fight had taken place here.
"Look," said Caradoc. He flicked his wand, and Dedalus' body slowly became translucent. A disillusionment charm. "We have to leave him here, now let's go."
The three men headed off down the corridor, leaving Dedalus behind. Dedalus groaned, rolled over and blinked up at the ceiling. "Come back," he mumbled.
For perhaps a minute he lay there, breathing slowly.
James glanced at the others. They were quiet, seeming content to wait for something more to happen. He heard a noise and looked around.
Moaning, rubbing his head, a Death Eater with a bruise on his cheek slowly sat up, winced and cursed to himself.
Dedalus stiffened at the sound. He looked down at his body, took in the fact that he was effectively invisible. At a painstakingly measured pace, he put his hands to the ground and pushed himself up. When he was standing, he moved, still so slowly, tip-toeing down the corridor in the direction that Caradoc, Anton, and Sawyer had headed.
James and the others followed him. When he was far enough away he sped up and they sped up with him, running along the corridor now, reaching an intersection of corridors, and they followed as Dedalus took the sharp left, ran on. They eventually reached a large room with two open doors. Voices could be heard from beyond one, and Dedalus made his way there, still moving as cautiously as one would if they weren't as good as invisible.
They walked with him to the doorway and looked through.
A large, brightly lit room, on the far side some steps leading up to a chair. In the center of the room stood Caradoc talking to Rodolphus Lestrange, both men snarling.
But James' attention was on the group standing closer to the door. Sawyer, Anton, the three Ukranians James had met only once. And his parents. His heart lurched inside him as he looked at them. There was confusion on their faces.
Rodolphus moved his arm, a wand sliding out from his sleeve, and Sawyer yelled, flicked his own wand, blasted Caradoc off his feet just in time for Rodolphus' killing curse to sizzle harmlessly into the wall. Sawyer ran forward and so many things happened at once. Many jets of green light shot through the air, Sawyer hit the ground, dead. Euphenia Potter, her throat slit, gurgled and collapsed, hands clutching her neck, dying in seconds. Fleamont Potter, a knife sticking out of his belly, hit the ground beside his wife. He coughed blood for a few more seconds, blinking, white faced, before his last breath left him.
One more flash of green light, and Caradoc, too, fell. Dead.
Dedalus whimpered, shaking, looking like he might collapse against the door frame.
After a few seconds, the Ukranian who had killed the Potters threw his head back and laughed. "What a relief! I had to pretend I liked those fools. They're much better dead, I think."
Anton's wand rose in a flash and a jet of green light hit the man square in the chest.
"Danylo," roared the other two Ukranians, watching their friend topple and die before he hit the ground.
"Those were good people," Anton said quietly, lowering his wand. "Better than any of you. I will not allow their lives to be ridiculed."
"You'll pay, Windstrum," one of the Ukranians bellowed, raising his wand.
"You can die, too, then," Anton growled, his own wand rising once again.
"Calm down," said Rodolphus quickly. "Artem, our precious Blithe is feeling a little sensitive given he just killed all his friends. You must excuse the little princess."
"You'll all die," Anton snarled, wand waving.
Dedalus turned on his heel, left the room at the fastest possible pace.
Their surroundings faded until there was nothing, and then-
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
James stepped back from the Pensieve, stumbling, his legs unsteady.
McGonagall rushed over to him, wrapped him in a tight hug. "Oh, Potter!"
Harold was staring into empty space. James' eyes rushed around the room from over McGonagall's shoulder, looking for something, an answer, a solution to the thunderstorm pressing in on his mind. His eyes found Dumbledore.
The Headmaster was completely still for the longest time. When he moved, McGonagall let James go, looked at Dumbledore helplessly. "What do we do, Albus?"
Dumbledore walked over to a portrait of a stern faced woman wearing glasses, who was looking out at them all confusedly. "Find Alastor Moody," he said quietly. "Tell him to floo to my office at once. Then get a message to the rest of the Wizengamot. They are to activate emergency protocol, allowing for Harold Minchum, as Sawyer's number two, to be sworn in as Minister of Magic tomorrow morning."
The lady nodded, and left sideways through the frame of her portrait.
"Albus," McGonagall said again, louder, "what are we doing to do?"
Dumbledore waved his wand, and his long hair was tied up into a top knot, his free flowing beard constricted and tied into three sections of silver hair as it went down, stopping now well before his waist. He looked at them, his eyes behind half-moon spectacles bubbling with uncontainable anger, his shoulders setting, and when Dumbledore stood up straight he was the warrior James had heard tales of as a child, he who had defeated Grindelwald at Nurmengard, who no evil could possibly stand against, power, strength, and light radiating from him in waves. "Tonight," said Dumbledore, "we put an end to all this. For good."
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
Taureau Barkley opened his eyes, took in the near darkness of the room, and breathed in the much-too-clean air of a hospital.
"And he rises."
He turned his head. On the bed next to his he could make out an ill looking man with a lined face. The man smiled. "You've been out for two whole days, you know."
Taureau looked back up at the ceiling, said nothing.
"You were found in a burning building, I heard. With a dead body."
His stomach lurched. Emmett. He had held the dead body of the love of his life as the building burned and fell around him.
"Apparently the man was dead before the fire, but they couldn't trace the cause of death."
Taureau paused. "What do you mean?" His voice was raspy, but he didn't much care. He'd never really considered himself a conversationalist.
"I don't know," said the man. "That's just what I heard the nurses saying."
"Where are we?"
"A hospital, my friend, and a very good one at that."
"Saint Mungo's?"
"Saint what-now? This is Saint Bartholomew's hospital, my good man. Best around, if you ask me."
"You're a Muggle, then?"
"A what?"
Taureau grimaced, getting the bearing of his situation. "Nevermind. Were my possessions saved from the fire?"
"Possessions? Oh, you mean all that?" The man tilted his head towards a chair by Taureau's bed. On it was his suit, torn in places and washed. Taureau was thankful for that.
"Yes. Anything else?" he asked.
"Yes, your sunglasses and, erm, your stick."
Taureau looked to his bedside table. His wand and Aviator sunglasses, their lenses cracked, lay atop it. The nurses must have thought the wand was something precious to him. Obviously, they were absolutely correct. Nodding to himself and grunting, Taureau sat up slowly.
"Hey, steady on, mate, you just woke up! It's past midnight, I think most of the staff have gone home. You should have a button somewhere to summon a nurse, though."
Taureau ignored him. Throwing the blanket off his body, he manoeuvred his legs off the bed. Each movement hurt, but he pushed past the pain, as it bore no striking resemblance to the suffering of the heart. He stood on shaky feet. Took a breath, closed his eyes, waited for his balance to find him.
"Oi, oi, where are you going?" the man demanded.
Taureau grabbed his wand, and picked his suit up off the chair. "First, I'm going to get changed." And then, to avenge Emmett Fawley, Blithe was… no, Anton Windstrum, was going to die. "I must be dressed for this occasion."
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
There was no sneaking, there was no stealth. The time for that had passed.
The ground splintered, cracked under the wand of Albus Dumbledore, and the underground headquarters of the Death Eaters appeared below them, beneath the rubble.
A steady, indomitable stream of Aurors flooded down into the dirty corridor below, Dumbledore amongst them, Alastor Moody amongst them, Harold Minchum, Bartemius Crouch, the full might of the Ministry of Magic in short, and James joined the throng, entered the corridor and stayed close to the biggest players. With them, he knew he would find Anton Windstrum. And when he did…
The Death Eaters unlucky enough to be in the corridor looked around in surprise, were flung into walls and bound, and the stream wasn't slowed in the slightest. The corridor split, and the throng split with it. James followed Dumbledore and Moody. Around bends and corners they went, disposing of any enemies in their warpath. Around one such corner, perhaps a dozen Death Eaters had gathered, waiting. One of them was at the front, and he was huge. Almost as big as Hagrid. Unmasked, his beefy face was the size of a beach ball, with a sinister, crooked-toothed smile that reached up to beady eyes.
"This," said another one of the Death Eaters, "is Koshulynsky. He is an unstoppable force, and I pity you. Koshulynksy, discipline them all, if you please."
The hulking man gave a happy nod and started moving forwards, and Moody barely flicked his wand. Golden light flashed, Koshulynsky went tumbling into the Death Eaters, and after quickly binding the lot of them, Moody, Dumbledore, and James pressed onwards. They progressed in much the same fashion. James didn't lift his wand once. Why bother, with these two flanking him? No, there was only person his torrent of emotions could be vented upon.
The corridor split again, and Moody went one way, Dumbledore the other. James stuck close to the Headmaster, certain that he would be rewarded, certain that as they navigated through this underground maze he would eventually have his target placed before him.
Dumbledore stopped suddenly. Turned to a door beside them, blasted it off its hinges, stepped through. James followed him into a large stone room with archways along the walls leading off into many other rooms and corridors, some of which James recognized from having passed through them.
In the center of the room, scanning the rooms and corridors beyond each of the archways carefully, was Anton Windstrum.
He turned at the opening of the door, froze for a moment when he saw them, before slowly reaching toward his back pocket.
"Don't move," said Dumbledore quietly.
Anton's arm stopped exactly where it was. "Hello, Headmaster." He looked at James and nodded. "Potter."
Looking at him, at the face of his teacher, James felt something, the overpowering urge to make this man feel and understand the depth of pain he had inflicted. James raised his wand finally, slowly.
"You've heard then, I assume," said Anton. "It was Dedalus, wasn't it?" He sighed and shook his head wistfully. "I knew I should have killed him."
"What happened to you, Anton?" said Dumbledore. "This… this is not you. It has never been."
Anton pondered the question, then looked at James. "Do you remember, more than a month ago, the story I told you in my office, James?"
James provided no visual cue, so Anton continued after a few seconds.
"It was a story from my time spent travelling the world. For you're right, Dumbledore. Before I saw the world, I was not like this at all. This world, the Muggles," he snarled, "made me like this. I visited a Muggle village with some friends - the village was being terrorized by a chimera."
James remembered the story. Still didn't move.
"My friends and I slayed the beast, and as thanks, the Muggles captured and tortured us. They were afraid of us, you see. I understand that. We were the unknown to them, and nothing is more frightening to a human being. As much as I understand that, it does not change my memories of the horrors I suffered at their hands. They are vile people."
"You know better than to think that, Anton," said Dumbledore.
"No, you must think, Professor. Really think! Why are we, the all powerful, why are we the ones who must scurry about in the dark? The Muggles are weak, and dull, yet they are permitted to effectively rule this world. Why?"
"The alternative would be to rule over them."
"And is that not better? Voldemort is a lunatic, believe me, I hold no illusions on that matter. I have no wish to kill all the Muggles. I wish to save them. Look at this world, Dumbledore. I've travelled it extensively. Have you seen what they've done to the environment? To the planet? They've ruined it! And they don't even realize this, or perhaps they simply don't care. It may be decades before they see the error in their ways, by which point it will be much too late. I've visited Japan, Dumbledore. Do you know what the Muggles did there? Have you heard of their nuclear bombs?"
"I have," Dumbledore murmured.
"Vapourized. We don't even have a spell for what they did. The horrors they unleash upon each other, it's unthinkable. They need us to take over, Dumbledore. For the greater good!"
There was a look on Dumbledore's face that spoke a great many words.
"Undo the jinx now," Anton said softly. "The anti-disapparition jinx you've cast. Undo it, and let me leave this place."
"You are wrong, Anton," Dumbledore said, his voice low but powerful. "But I have not the time nor the compassion at present to show you the error of your ways. For the murders of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, Sawyer Hughes, Caradoc Dearborn, Emmett Fawley, and Eugenia Jenkins, you will spend the rest of your life in a prison cell."
"I only killed two of those people personally," said Anton, wrinkling his nose.
"At only twenty three years of age, to have fallen so far from the esteem I once held you in," said Dumbledore, "it saddens me greatly. But you will have no mercy from me."
"It doesn't matter what cell you throw me in," said Anton. "When the war is over, I will only be broken out. And I've already done more than enough to see to it the war will end, and it will end in our favor."
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "Do not think I have forgotten. You have the Muggle Prime Minister under the Imperius curse."
Anton nodded. "I suppose you're going to put a stop to that now. It matters not whether or not we control the Muggle Minister. We have plenty of other plans to seize the country."
"And we will stop all of those plans in due time," said Dumbledore. "For now…" He flicked his wand, and Anton's wand flew from his back pocket into Dumbledore's hand. The old man held it between his fingers for a few seconds, before using both hands to snap it in half. "That should do the trick, I think."
"Well, that was childish," Anton muttered. "Could have just used a counter-curse."
"You have no need of a wand anymore, Anton."
"I suppose," said Anton with a sigh. "Come on, then. I want to see this cell you speak of so highly."
He started walking towards them, and a movement from behind him drew James' eye. From one of the archways, one of the last two Ukranians, Maksym, sprinted towards Anton, eyes blazing, wand raised.
Anton turned in slow motion, wide eyed, and paused when a jet of green light hit Maksym from behind. Maksum tumbled and slid on the ground, dead. Another person stepped through the archway.
"Who now?" said Anton exasperatedly.
Taureau Barkley, with his Aviator sunglasses, the lenses of which were cracked, and wearing a torn and rumpled three-piece salmon pink suit, entered the room, walking slowly, as though every step had specific intention behind it.
"Oh," said Anton.
"For killing the love of my life," said Taureau, his voice raspy, "you will die now."
Dumbledore raised his own wand, pointed it at the newcomer. "He is to face the law, Mr Barkley. I assure you there are some who would say his fate is worse than death."
But Taureau shook his head. "There is one person and one person only who will deal justice to this man."
At that, James shifted his wand, pointed it straight at Taureau too. "And you think it's you?"
"This man," said Taureau, "hired me because of my relationship with Emmett Fawley. He knew this would lead you all to believe Emmett to be Blithe - he used me to turn Emmett into his scapegoat! And though I knew all along that Blithe was Anton Windstrum, by telling this to Emmett, I doomed him to be killed by Blithe. I, and I alone, may take vengeance upon him."
"There's plenty of me to go around," said Anton with the ghost of a smirk. "Just form an orderly line, I reckon."
Taureau's patience snapped and his wand flicked and an orb light shot through the air, pulsating, and Anton's eyes widened. Dumbledore had just enough time to stand in front of James and wave his wand and a blinding flash of light filled the room. James' ears popped, waves of air brushed past his face, and after a few seconds the light faded.
Anton Windstrum was nowhere to be seen.
Taureau Barkley looked around the room blankly, his fury being retracted and resorbed into himself until he could look coolly at Dumbledore and James.
"Go in peace," said Dumbledore softly.
Taureau turned, and left the room the way he'd come.
There were many arrests made that night. Yet, although the underground complex was cleared completely, and there had not been a single casualty suffered, and by all means it was a thorough and decisive victory against the Death Eaters, all those present were encumbered by the bitter taste of failure in the air, impossible to shake.