The sunlight of a beautiful morning lit up the dormitory. Lily packed clothes into her bag, humming a tune for a song that didn't exist. Everyone else was getting a quick breakfast before leaving for the train, but Lily had left packing to the last minute. She didn't mind. At times like these she enjoyed her own thoughts more than any conversation. At any rate, she suspected that she wouldn't have very much meditative time over the break.

She was going to live with James Potter over her summer break before seventh year. Throughout the night, throughout the morning, the thought had swung back and forth through her mind like a pendulum. She'd been to Potter Manor before, of course. It was an extraordinary place. Now she was going to live there. With House-elves, Sirius… James.

She wondered what a younger Lily Evans would make of this situation. She wondered what a younger Lily Evans would make of her.

Appalled on both fronts, most likely.

She was going to live with James. The thought swung through her head again. This was an incredibly intimate thing to do. Although, she reflected, they had become fairly intimate with each other. Of course they hadn't indulged their intimacy for some time now, not really, but a whole summer living with him? Something… untoward was bound to happen, surely. It didn't surprise Lily at all to find her heart racing at the thought. She'd grown quite familiar with the feeling over the past year.

Sixth year had been disastrous and beautiful. There were many moments she would change, many more she held most dear. Whether she liked it or not, she was a different person, and her life, everything discernable on her horizon, had been irreversibly altered. For better or worse.

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"That," said Dumbledore, frowning, stroking his beard, "is very grave news."

"Indeed," said Harold Minchum, sitting on the other side of the Headmaster's desk. There were lines on the Minister for Magic's forehead that hadn't been there a few months ago. "All communications with the German Ministry have been lost. I haven't heard back from any of our delegates in days. I expect they're all dead. We have to assume that Voldemort has taken complete control over Germany."

Dumbledore let out a breath. "So the rumors were all true."

"It certainly seems that way. I wasn't around, but I am aware this is the same thing Grindelwald did while rising to power. It's the same country that he's taken control of, too."

"They were difficult times," said Dumbledore. "Although I fear the steepest mountains lie only ahead of us. I fear we must go to war."

"We are already at war."

"Yet here we sit."

"You and I do not have the liberty of getting our hands dirty, Professor. You yourself only got involved against Grindelwald when you absolutely had to. How was the war fought before then, I wonder?"

Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, considered a particular letter he'd sent out no less than a week ago, and let a small smile reach his face. "With good soldiers."

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Fabian and Gideon Prewett were in a bind, there were no two ways about it.

"Who sent you?" asked the man pointing the gun at them.

"Sent us?" asked Fabian. "You are being paranoid, my friend. We broke into your warehouse of our own volition."

"That's right," said Gideon, nodding. "You can point a gun at us, you can shoot us, kill us, but you may never rob us of our agency."

"We'd rather you didn't shoot or kill us at all," said Fabian quickly. "My brother is only being poetic."

The man didn't seem to know what to make of their answers. He waved the gun, as though to remind them of its threat. "Why are you here?"

The brothers looked at each other. They shared dark hair and dark eyes, and perhaps they had the same nose, but the similarities ended there. Fabian was tall, thin, and his eyebrows were thicker, making his face look more stern. Gideon was short, stocky, with a wide chest and bulging biceps; his eyebrows were always raised, his smile always wide. Side by side they looked like the number ten.

"I won't insult your intelligence," said Fabian. "You're clearly a very smart man. We came here to use your toilet, but we got lost."

The man frowned. "You snuck onto my boat, halfway across the Pacific Ocean, to use the toilet?"

Gideon looked at Fabian. "We're on a boat?"

"No," said Fabian, frowning.

A few shipping containers slid across the ground, then slowed, and started sliding the other way.

Gideon looked around the vast room they had mistook for a warehouse upon apparating in, seeing everything sway to and fro. He looked down at his legs. He was swaying to and fro. "Fabian, we're on a boat."

"Fascinating," murmured Fabian. "So if one apparates to a place they have been before, but that place moves elsewhere, they are taken to the new place rather than the old."

"In that case," said Gideon, "instead of London we are, what did he say? In the Pacific Ocean?"

"What the blazes are the two of you talking about?" asked the man. He waved the gun again, eyes beginning to bulge. "What are you doing here?"

The brothers raised their hands in the air. "Relax," said Gideon, giving the man one of his famous charming smiles. "We aren't going to hurt you."

The man found this funny. "Hurt me?"

"We only want to ask you a few questions. How did you come by your cargo?"

For the first time, the man looked cautious. "Through legal methods. I have the papers."

"No, you don't," said Fabain dismissively. He turned to his brother. "Let's just take him down now."

"We're not taking him down," said Gideon, his smile still in place. "We're here to have a discussion with him."

"A discussion at gunpoint," the man pointed out, waving the gun yet again.

"It's a discussion at gunpoint," Fabian told his brother.

"It's a discussion at gunpoint among friends," Gideon stressed.

"If you two don't start giving me some answers…"

"You took the words right out of my mouth," said Gideon. "Mr Crawford, let us cease beating around the bush. Where did you get the Centaurs?"

The man froze. The gun quivered. "The what?"

"Centaurs," said Fabian impatiently. "Half men, half horses. You have shipping containers full of them, and if I had to take a guess I'd say we're on our way to, what? Asia? China?"

Mr Crawford's mouth worked up and down for a few seconds before he found his voice. "You're… you're them. You're both Warlocks."

"Wizards," Gideon corrected politely.

"Who's them?" Fabian pressed. "Who have you met with in the last week? Flint? Macnair?"

The man shook his head. "I'm not telling you."

The brothers' eyes widened.

"Sallow?" Gideon exclaimed. "You're shipping Centaurs for Sallow?"

The man shook his head faster. "No!"

"He is!" Fabian looked at his brother in alarm. "Merlin, these Centaurs might already be dead!"

They turned and hurried to the nearest container, reaching into their pockets for their-

"Stop right there," the man shouted, firing a round off. There was a clang, and a shell clattered onto the floor. There was a dent in the container in front of them. The brothers froze, and turned around slowly.

"Don't," said the man slowly, gun unwavering now, hesitation gone from his face, "even think about it."

"Think about what?" asked Fabian.

"Remove your hands from your pockets, slowly. If I see even the point of a wand, I shoot."

Grimacing, Gideon and Fabian slowly lifted their hands from their pockets, empty. Now that his shock had worn off, the man seemed much more of a threat. He took a few steps forward, gun moving from one brother to the other. "Now, you're going to explain to me exactly how you found me, so that I can avoid meeting freaks like the two of you again. Then, I'll shoot three bullets through each of your skulls and tip you over the side of the boat. Sound good?"

Gideon opened his mouth to say no. Then there was a white flash of light, and Mr Crawford stopped moving suddenly, his eyes unfocused, before he tipped sideways and hit the ground, gun clattering away from him.

"One day," came a familiar voice to the brothers, "I'd like to run into the two of you without having to save your lives."

A man jumped down from atop one of the shipping containers. His hair was grey, though he was no older than they were. He wore a vest, showing off toned arms and a lean figure. The corners of light blue eyes crinkled as he regarded them.

"Edgar," said Fabian, nodding.

Gideon took the opportunity to blast open the door to one of the shipping containers. "Lumos," he murmured.

By wandlight, he could make out figures in the dark. Bodies of gleaming chestnut brown, strong, powerful. Hooves clinked upon the metal floor. Gideon had expected fear, but when he raised his wand he saw valour, pride upon the faces of each Centaur in the container. Their shoulders, rippling with sinew and muscle, were wide, their heads held high. Gideon looked at the one at the front, and bowed his head. "We're busting you guys out," he whispered.

"Dumbledore wants us," said Edgar loudly behind him.

Gideon turned from the container, brow furrowed.

Edgar Bones put his hands in his pockets and surveyed the brothers with a grimace. "He sent me a letter last week. The war is escalating. He needs help."

"Tell him to round some Aurors up," said Fabian. Neither brother was looking particularly enthusiastic. "Form a new team."

"He did," said Edgar. "You must have heard of it. Caradoc Dearborn, Sawyer Hughes, the Potters. All dead."

"See?" said Fabian. "That's what happens! Same as us, he gets us to form a team, we do his dirty work for him all over Germany, then we go to raid Nurmengard with him, and the three of us are the only ones to come out alive!"

"Barnabus survived Nurmengard, if you recall," Edgar pointed out.

"The blood loss killed Barnabus hours later," Fabian snapped. "Tell Dumbledore to find some new suicidal fools."

"Also we've started a band," said Gideon, scratching his head. "I'd hate to die before we record our album."

"We did good work in Germany," said Edgar. "The seven of us saved hundreds of thousands of lives." There was the rattling of hooves against metal, and the Centaurs emerged from the shipping container. They squinted at the light, raising their hands to their eyes, taking deep breaths of fresh air. "Helping others is what people like us do," Edgar said quietly.

Fabian glanced at Gideon. After a few seconds, both brothers hung their heads.

"What's the job?" Fabian asked resignedly.

"You-Know-Who and Anton Windstrum, the treacherous bastard that he is, have taken complete control over Germany."

Gideon froze. "And so… Dumbledore wants us to…"

"We have to take back Germany," said Edgar, nodding. "Again."

Fabian threw his hands up. "Why is it always Germany?"

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Severus used to be sure that he would never again be as miserable as he was in his childhood. The first nine years of his life had been cold, torturous, with the paradise of Hogwarts always just out of arm's reach - until suddenly it wasn't, and he could learn to enjoy getting out of his bed for the first time.

Now, Severus could confidently say that sixth year had been the worst year of his life. He would rather watch his parents fight a million times before witnessing Lily Evans bite her lip while looking at James Potter in Potions just once more. He would watch his father raise a hand against his mother, against him, as many times as it took to never again hear the words, "Did you hear Evans is gonna live with Potter over the summer?" It seemed ludicrous that the latter hurt him so much more than the former ever had, unbelievable even, but that was the simple truth of the matter. This was a pain unlike anything he had felt before.

"No," said Severus disinterestedly. "I did not."

Travers shrugged as he cut into a steak. "Everyone's talking about it."

"Well, I can only hope that everyone may find something more worthwhile to talk about."

After a few seconds, Travers got distracted by another student, and Severus pushed his plate away and stood from the Slytherin table. He hurried from the Great Hall as fast as he could, wishing for the first time in his life to be at home.

He bumped into a short Ravenclaw girl as he walked. She dropped her books, and he scowled at her, perhaps said something derisive or insulting. He barely registered the words coming out of his mouth, even as those words brought hurt to the girl's face. These sorts of things were becoming second nature to him, unconscious, brought out without effort. They were a part of who he was now.

Severus had never considered himself a nasty person. He still didn't. The world was nasty, and he was just trying to live in it.

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While the others all ate breakfast, Marlene sat on a desk in an empty classroom. She wanted a moment to herself before she got on the train. She also couldn't have attended to the urgent matter at hand with everyone peering over her shoulder. There was a stack of letters beside her, and she held the latest one in her hands.

Mar

Are you sure you want to move our wedding up by that much? I'm all for it, don't get me wrong, but I want to be certain that's what you want. If I marry you today, or marry you in a decade, I'll be just as thrilled. Whatever you want is what we'll do, alright? You just let me know.

Will

Later, Marlene took great pride in the fact that she didn't think of Sirius Black once as she hopped off the desk, spread a fresh sheet of parchment over it, and began to write.

Will

Yes, of course I'm sure. We have just over six months - I always thought January weddings were the cutest!

Perhaps it was a few times, but she expelled him from her mind immediately, and she took great pride in that much.

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Anton Windstrum had been screaming for so long there was no sound coming from his mouth anymore.

"Crucio!"

His mind was numb. Every time he acclimated to the pain, it only intensified, surpassing any tolerance, any chance he had of not breaking.

"Crucio!"

He wanted to die. His face was filthy from writhing on the ground, spittle covered his chin, his tongue was bleeding from the gnashing of his teeth.

Why? Why was this happening? It was the only thought he could hold onto, and he had no answer.

Voldemort had said, "You have served me well, Windstrum. You successfully tricked Dumbledore, you were the perfect tool."

Anton had smiled, nodded his thanks.

"But you take me for a fool. The Auror, Caradoc Dearborn, joined the ranks of my Death Eaters under Dumbledore's orders. I learned of this only shortly before his death. Only a select few of Dumbledore's allies knew Dearborn was spying on us. I understand that you were among those few. Why, then, was I not?"

"My Lord-"

"You withheld this information from me because of your friendship with the man. No harm came of it, of course. Before long, when the time came, you killed him. But the fact remains that you were dishonest to Lord Voldemort."

"My Lord, please-"

"I told you once that you are useful to me only as long as your identity as Blithe remains a secret. Now that identity is common knowledge - you are a wanted fugitive, your face is in the papers. You have become a Death Eater of no particular importance, yet one who believes he can get away with lying to me."

"I never lied-"

Voldemort had raised his wand, and Anton's face had paled. "I will not kill you. You still hold some value to me. We have taken Germany, and you will preside over it for me while I attend to more important matters. And when Dumbledore sends his hounds to wage war, they will come to kill you - and they will find me."

"You're using me as bait."

A cold, sadistic smile spread across the skull like face.

"My Lord-"

"CRUCIO!"

There was darkness. Among the darkness there was nothing, no thought or emotion, no awareness of anything outside numb oblivion.

Then someone was shaking him.

Anton gasped for air and sat up. The room was dark but still he squinted, his body shaking, sweating. There was a girl kneeling by him, cradling his neck. She was pretty, with soft brown eyes and curved lashes. "Can you stand?"

Her accent was German.

Anton tried to speak. His throat was ruined, and a rasping whisper came out of his mouth.

She smiled and put her wand to his neck. "Here."

A warm sensation filled his throat, and there was a feeling like melted butter trickling down his vocal chords.

He opened his mouth again and she put a finger to his lips. "Not yet," she said. "Nod once if you can stand."

Anton tensed his legs. The muscles were sore, drained, but he nodded anyway. She put a hand under his armpit and helped him to his feet. His knees shook. Anton cleared his throat. "Why are you helping me? Who-" He coughed. Blood splattered on the ground, a few drops leaving red marks on her shoes. "Who are you?"

"I am Augusta, but you may call me Gus. The Dark Lord has instructed me to assist you while you run our country."

Anton nodded. She was here to keep an eye on him. He saw it plainly. "Where are we?" he croaked.

She frowned. "You came here yourself."

Anton blinked, then nodded. His jumbled mind recalled the events of the day, but it was like water trying to trickle down a stream filled with rocks. "Berlin," he said. "The German Ministry, right?"

"That's correct."

"Remind me, what travel limitations do we still need to put in place?"

"It is impossible to apparate into, out of, or within Germany. Any attempts to use Portkeys to get in or out of Germany will splinch the body into pieces. The Floo network within the country is still operational, but no fireplace can be used to floo in or out," she recited.

"And the sky?"

"Broomsticks are fried upon passing the border. We also have squads monitoring the borders physically. No wizard can enter or leave Germany."

Anton nodded, rubbing his forehead. "But they'll find a way."

She smiled. "We are hoping that they do."

He snorted, looked at his blood on the ground, then back up at her. "Do you know where my wand is?"

"Of course." She moved to the desk, his wand sitting on the polished wood. He hadn't noticed the desk. He hadn't even looked around the room. Was this to be his office?

His body ached.

So he'd been given a new task. Bait, war, death. For the greater good, to take the world back from the Muggles. It seemed like so long ago now, when he'd had his revelation. Muggles were violent, Muggles were cruel.

His body ached.

Were wizards really so different? What was he fighting for? Giving his life to?

"Here," said Gus. She handed him his wand, and he relished the feeling of power being put back into his hands.

"Is this my office?"

"Yes," she said. Her smile was very nice to look at. "Is it to your liking?"

"I think we should move the desk," he said quietly.

She looked at the desk, and there was a flash of green light.

Anton walked to the door, heard her body hit the ground. He turned the handle slowly, cracked it open. Two men stood guard outside. They stood facing the door, and Anton knew they were guarding his escape rather than his life.

He took a breath and counted to five, then flicked his wand and the door burst off its hinges, knocking the first man down. He ran out and killed the second man with another flick, then he stomped on the first man's neck.

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While the others all ate breakfast, Remus lay in bed. He wanted desperately to sleep, but found that he couldn't quite grasp it. A week had passed since the last full moon, yet the effects still lingered. They always did. Sometimes he would be perfectly fine, and then all at once he would fall into a sea of fatigue, light-headedness, deadness in all his limbs, and an inconsolable, inexplicable rage. He always suppressed the rage, of course. Remus was far too reasonable a person to allow simple mood swings to bring irrational behaviour out of him. It only meant that sometimes he didn't feel like being around others.

The boys understood this well by now, and they left him to his own devices when they could tell he needed it. Oftentimes he would have to tell them, of course - they weren't exactly the most emotionally sensitive blokes in the castle.

This morning was one such time. He felt bad that all his friends were eating together at the end of their sixth year, but at the same time he really had no patience for it. The anxiety that arose from being around so many, the pressure on his temples from the noise, those carefree smiles and relaxed shoulders throughout the Great Hall, devoid of the burden that Remus had been forced to bear since childhood.

His burden, thrust upon a four year old boy by a werewolf who had recognized the genius in biting him, but not to take his life - could recognize it was crueller by far to leave the child alive.

His burden, a consequence of his father's career, having made an enemy of one Fenrir Greyback and cursing Remus to a life of pain and loneliness. His burden, that which had come to define his life, define his identity, who he felt he was in his core more than anything else.

He didn't resent his father for it, of course. Remus wasn't a resentful person. But all the negative emotion had to be directed somewhere, flow somewhere and towards someone, and there was only one person left.

It was wrong to say Remus hated himself, but perhaps correct to say he hated who he was. He understood well that every person had their own struggles, but there were countless people around him whose lives he could look at and wish were his own. So sometimes he wished he was someone else.

A lot of the time, the reason he wanted to be asleep was because it meant he was not awake.

Remus breathed out and sat up. Blinked moistness from his eyes, wiped them lightly with his sleeve, got out of bed. The latest wave of negativity, the frothing dark thoughts, had suddenly and finally crashed, disappeared completely, and he couldn't understand why he'd been so sad. He never had an explanation for when it left, it simply came and went as it pleased, like a stray dog. He knew it would be back.

For now, however, he could at least eat scrambled eggs and be with friends.

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'Make love, not war', was the chant, but Taureau Barkley didn't join in. These people were being referred to by the Muggles as hippies, and he wanted nothing to do with them. Without war, people like Taureau would be out of a job.

Although these days, he really was out of a job, even if it was by his own choice. Tired of people, tired of the world, he had found refuge in the United States, which had always treated him well in the past. He had found himself a home now, a cottage in the countryside of Louisiana - it was the only thing he could think to do after he buried Emmett Falwey, the only love he'd ever known.

The cottage was in a nice spot, far from the city, though when he had to go out for supplies he liked to stop and watch the madness of Muggles. Today Taureau wore a black suit with gold pinstripes. He'd left his aviator sunglasses at home, and had to cover his eyes with his hand against the glare of the sun, a sensation he wasn't accustomed to.

Some of the protesters gave him a second look as they marched past. His dark skin and superior, impeccable dress sense made him stand out in any crowd, but people in the States seemed to take special exception to it. More than a few nasty Muggles would make all sorts of nasty comments, amusingly simple and hair-brained. Those occasions made him miss the British - they were at least nasty with some class.

It fascinated Taureau to observe Muggles. He had never had a particular problem with them, but nor did he see them as equals - he was far too powerful a wizard for it. This sentiment reminded him of lectures, rants he'd listened to from the likes of his old employer, the man he wanted to kill more than anything else in the world. Anton Windstrum, the Muggle hater, who had employed Taureau for months only to kill his lover before his very eyes.

He should have killed Windstrum when he had the chance - and he had had the chance, multiple times. He recalled one such time with melancholy - the night he had duelled Windstrum and Caradoc Dearborn in the home of one Cassus Lucio, what seemed like so long ago now. He had known when setting out for that house that he would have to duel his employer, who was of course undercover as one of Dumbledore's allies at the time. He knew he would have to make things look realistic, and they had. His killing curses had come extremely close to bringing Windstrum's life to what he now saw as a rather timely end. But the curses had missed. Taureau could have very easily killed the man had he been properly trying, and the love of his life would still be alive.

Now, however, Taureau had no one. He had no purpose.

There were plenty of jobs available in the States that suited Taureau's more violent skillset, but since his recent failure to kill Windstrum, he felt he had lost his appetite for the business. He wasn't sure what to do anymore.

"Power to the people," said a girl walking past, smiling widely at him. Her head was shaved, and she had a nose ring.

"Power to the people," responded Taureau with detached amusement. He'd assumed she would move along, but she didn't. She extended a hand, presumably to shake.

He eyed her hand like it was diseased. "I think not. Move along."

But she stayed still, so still Taureau could only assume she was under the influence of some powerful Muggle drugs. As a high end assassin, he knew just how hard it was to stand that still. After a few more moments of staring, Taureau rolled his eyes, and with a grimace he reached out and-

She dropped a torn piece of parchment in his hand.

Taureau frowned, squinted at the writing on the parchment.

Mr Barkley

I understand that you are a certified expert in tracking down one Anton Windstrum, and have a vested interest in seeing to his demise. I will be in contact. Have a bag packed.

A. Dumbledore

Taureau looked up. The girl had disappeared into the crowd.

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Caradoc shook his head. "No."

"I am sorry, my friend." Anton saw the betrayal fill his closest friend's eyes moments before they lit up with green light, watched Caradoc topple, lifeless, hit the ground-

Anton sat bolt upright, sweating. The eyes of Caradoc Dearborn were burned into the back of his mind. When he blinked he saw them.

The room was dark. He had broken into one of the first Muggle homes he had found, drawn all the curtains in the living room, and fallen asleep on the couch. It couldn't be past midday yet. He couldn't have been sleeping for more than an hour.

So why had he woken up?

Anton listened, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He could make out the outlines of chairs, tables, some curved shapes here and there, but everything was still. There was no threat. He relaxed.

One of the shapes moved.

Anton rolled off the couch as green light lit the room up, and he saw a dozen masked Death Eaters packed into the place. He pulled his wand from his pocket, levitated one of the tables over him as more green light flashed, and he heard cracking and sizzling, each sound accompanied by another flash of light.

He cast a disillusionment charm over himself, crawled out from under the table and hurried on his hands and knees. When the table shattered under the onslaught he heard the Death Eaters curse, and one of them cried, "Lumos!"

The room was lit up with white light, and Anton crawled faster, hoping they wouldn't see his outline, praying-

He bumped into a table. A vase fell. Smashed.

Anton pushed himself up to his feet and sprinted as killing curses came careening past his body, hitting the walls around him and leaving black, smoking marks. He ran through a corridor, came to a kitchen with blinding sunlight streaming in. Without stopping he leaped onto the counter and dove through the window. Chunks of shattered glass rained upon him as he hit the grass outside and rolled. It occurred to him as he got to his feet, wincing, limping, that he had only himself to place the blame of his current predicament on, for putting a bloody anti-apparition jinx over the entire country in the first place.

He looked around. The street was busy, and he raised an arm when he saw a taxi approach. The driver squinted as he drew near, taking in Anton's appearance. Behind him Anton heard the front door of the house open, and he hurried into the car, not caring what the driver made of the situation.

The driver looked at him with raised brows. "Wohin?"

"Fahren," said Anton, eyeing the masked figures rushing out of the house, wands raised. "Just drive!"

The driver glanced at the figures and the car shot off a moment later. Evidently, he had deduced they weren't very friendly company.

Anton leaned his head back against the seat and breathed out. His shirt was riddled with cuts. His face stung, and he was sure he was bleeding.

It was a few minutes into the drive when an excruciating pain lanced up Anton's arm. He screwed his eyes shut and yelled, and the driver swerved the car for a moment, glanced at him concernedly. Anton pulled his sleeve up. The Dark Mark was pulsing on his arm, like a snake was really living on the scarred flesh. He told the driver to keep going, and pulled his sleeve back down.

Outside, he started noticing cloaked figures on the street. All their eyes were on the car. They were left behind of course, as they too couldn't apparate, but before long Anton would spot more cloaked figures on the streets ahead, and his arm would pulse again, and they would look around, right at the car. Berlin was too crowded with Death Eaters - and somehow, they were using his Dark Mark to track him.

He glanced sideways at the driver, who was clueless to it all. The poor man didn't realize that he likely had very little time left to live. Before long, they would be caught.

Anton's mind raced as he looked ahead, eyes scanning every face, trying to spot Death Eaters before his arm pulsed next.

Was there any chance of him not dying today?

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Peter hurried through the corridor, grinning maniacally, almost skipping along. In his arms he carried a box of his mother's homemade Cauldron Cakes, having arrived by owl that morning. She must have sent it days ago, making Peter feel doubly lucky that it had come before he was on the train. This way, he had it all to himself.

It was unfortunate that he wouldn't be with everyone for breakfast, but, as he looked down at the box with a giddy expression, his stomach rumbling as he caught a whiff of the cakes, he decided it was worth it.

Peter slowed as he reached a corridor lined with empty classrooms. He was panting a little, and he could hear James and Sirius in his ear telling him that he didn't really need these cakes, did he? He shrugged their voices away. Peter could not hold himself to the high standards of his friends - he simply wasn't as good as them.

He shouldered open a classroom door, opened the lid of the box, and closed his eyes as the cakes' delicious scents began to tickle his nostrils.

"Oh!"

His eyes opened wide, and he hid the box behind his back.

"Peter." It was Marlene. She was sitting on a desk, holding a stack of parchment. Her eyes and cheeks were wet, and she wiped them hastily. "Hi!"

Peter turned on his heel and walked back.

"No, no, you don't need to go," she called.

He paused, and looked at her uncomfortably. "I don't want to interrupt you."

"Nonsense," she said, laughing and waving a hand. She hopped off the desk and sniffed. It was a bubbly sniff, and Peter almost lost his appetite. "Have you had breakfast?"

"No."

"Perfect! Let's go grab some."

He should have said yes. "It will have finished by now."

"Nonsense, we should still have another fifteen or so minutes to scoff something down! What do you say?"

Peter wrinkled his nose, trying not to curse. He scuffed his shoes against the ground. "Well… alright."

"Alright!" Marlene smiled brightly and took his arm, marched him from the room. He held the box against his side with his other arm. "What's that you've got there?"

"Books."

"Were you coming here to read them?"

"Yes."

"Aw." She looked at him proudly. Peter found that kind of patronising. "Good for you, Pete."

"Thanks."

She was quiet for a short while then, and they walked through corridors and down the stairs in a stifled silence. Eventually she looked sideways at him, with an expression indicating that she was chewing on her words. "Back there, I wasn't crying."

"No," said Peter quickly. "No, I know you weren't."

"Okay."

Peter nodded, hoping she'd stay quiet now. He was sure this was the longest he'd ever been alone with Marlene.

"I'm getting married after Christmas," she blurted.

Peter grimaced. "You… what?"

"I've decided to push up my wedding. You know I'm engaged, right? To Will Ärger. He's great. I just didn't see the point in waiting, you know?"

"Sure," said Peter carefully. He really wished he'd chosen a different classroom. He cursed his approachable features and subdued nature - he was simply too good a confidante. "And…" He hesitated, wondering if it might be better to simply leave it. "And you haven't factored Sirius into your considerations at all?"

Her expression darkened. "Why would I?"

"I have no clue," said Peter immediately. "I-" He laughed. "I haven't the slightest clue."

"But don't tell him."

"I won't."

"Good."

They descended the stairs to the first floor, the Great Hall almost in sight.

"I can't stop you from telling him, obviously," Marlene added. "If you do tell him, I can't be mad."

"I won't."

"You can, if you want."

"Well, I won't."

"Good," she said after a moment, nodding. Then, "But if you do tell him though, make sure you mention that I didn't even, how did you say it? Factor him into my considerations."

"Not to worry," said Peter. "I won't tell him."

She hesitated again, then nodded. "Good."

They reached the Great Hall, and Peter came to a stop. "Hey, I think I dropped a, um, a book back there. I'll go run up and get it, alright?"

"Okay," she said, offering a smile as they parted. He turned and started running back up the stairs. "Peter," Marlene called. He looked down at her. "Remember, it's just between us, okay?"

"Okay," he called back.

"Unless you really have to tell someone, in which case I can't fault you."

"Okay," he yelled, as he continued running up the stairs. He reached the second floor and wiped his brow, then looked at the box in his hands. He opened the lid a crack, peered inside at the glistening cakes. The smells, oh, the smells. Bugger it all, he'd just eat it all right here in the corridor. He opened the lid all the way-

Sniffle.

Peter looked around. In the corridor with him, sitting on the floor and leaning against a wall, was a Ravenclaw girl, no older than third year. Her head was in her hands, her shoulders heaving.

Peter looked from the box, the cakes and the icing, to the crying little girl. Back to the box. Then the girl. He knew exactly what his friends would do.

He threw his head back and groaned, then shuffled towards her, gently prodded her shoulder. "You alright?"

She looked up, her face red and messy. She wiped her nose with her sleeve and shook her head slightly. "Severus Snape called me a- a filthy little mudblood."

"Oh." Peter waved a hand. "He does that from time to time."

Her little features screwed, and she put her head back in her hands, shoulders working up and down again.

Peter looked up at the ceiling and scrunched his nose, sighing. Then he put a hand to the wall and lowered himself to the floor, sinking like a stone through mud. When his bum was on the ground, he leaned against the wall, huffed. The two sat side by side for a few minutes. When her sobs subsided a little, he spoke softly. "What's your name?"

She looked up again, sniffing. "Lizzy."

"Lizzy," he said. "Do you know why Snape called you that?"

"Because I'm a- a Muggle-born," she hiccuped.

"No," said Peter. "Snape doesn't know the blood purity of every single student in the castle. People like Snape only use hurtful slurs like that because they know that this," he gestured widely at her, "is what they're rewarded with. People like Snape get kicks from seeing their actions hurt others. It's sick."

She tilted her head. "What makes them different from everyone else?"

Peter hesitated. "I'll be honest, I don't know. Maybe all of us are like that. Deep down, maybe. At least partly."

"I can maybe think of times where I said something to hurt someone," the girl offered.

"I think we all have," said Peter, feeling relieved. "Some people are just weak."

"You think I'm weak?"

"Not the vicitms, Lizzy. The people who say it."

"Oh."

"With people like Snape, there's a large part of themselves that they hate. It's only natural that nastiness follows."

"So what stops us from being like Snape?"

Peter bit his lip, looking at the ground. "The people around us, I think. They make us better. Or they can make us worse, I guess. Things like the way we're raised, the friends we have, they all influence our choices."

"And our choices define who we are."

Peter glanced at her quickly. "Yeah, they do."

"Dumbledore said so in his speech last night,"

"Oh." Peter relaxed, assured that Lizzy didn't already have more emotional maturity than him. "Right."

Lizzy sniffled again. "How many more people like Snape do you think will call me that again?"

"Many," said Peter without thinking.

Her eyes closed, and she seemed to be struggling to control her breath.

"Here," Peter said quickly. Not hesitating, he opened his box and offered it to her.

The iced Cauldron Cakes gleamed out of the box, winking in the lamplight. He knew exactly when the smell reached her nose, for she opened her eyes and looked at them with hunger on her face. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"Of course," he said. Doubt was quickly seeping in, and he hoped she'd take one before he changed his mind and closed the box. They were his, after all.

Her stomach rumbled and she colored quickly. "I haven't had breakfast," she explained. Carefully, she picked up one Cauldron Cake and bit into it. Peter watched carefully as she closed her eyes and bliss crossed her face. Within seconds she finished the whole thing. "That was so good! Oh my goodness!"

Peter smiled and closed the lid. "I'm glad you-"

Her stomach rumbled again, and her face grew the darkest shade of red Peter had seen on a person's features. She stood quickly. "I should go to breakfast."

"It will be over by now," said Peter. His voice grew dead, and he looked at his box mournfully. "There's no point."

"Oh," she said.

He knew what he had to do. He was tempted to open the box, just for one last look at them, but that would be too painful. He held the box up and looked away. "Take it," he said.

"No, I couldn't-"

"Take the box, Lizzy, you're hungry."

"Th-thank you so much!" After a moment, the box left his hands, but he didn't see it. "Really, thank-"

"Make sure your bags are packed," Peter mumbled. "The train will be boarding soon."

She thanked him profusely again, and he offered a simple nod. Then she was off down the corridor, taking the delicious scent of those Cauldron Cakes with her.

Her day had been made, he was sure. His own stomach rumbled, and he leaned his head back against the wall again. Making the right choice was a pain in the arse.

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"Will you write me over break?" the girl asked.

Sirius didn't even know her name. He did up his belt buckle in the darkness of the broom closet, and didn't respond.

"Sirius?"

"Where's my shirt?" he asked quietly.

She rummaged on the ground for a moment and came back up with the loose fabric in hand. "Here. You didn't answer my question."

He took his shirt from her and slipped it on, started buttoning it. "What question?"

"I asked if you'll write to me over summer break."

Something was scratching his neck. He reached behind him, found her bra hanging from a mop handle. He handed it to her and opened the broom closet door. "No."

He stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind him, then set off. Looking out the windows at the sun, he reckoned he'd wasted about half an hour with the girl. She'd fulfilled him physically, there was no doubt about that. But after achieving a brief euphoria, he had quickly grown disgusted with himself. That was no euphoria. It was a cheap thrill. A poor imitation of what sex was really supposed to feel like. Making love only provided him true ecstasy when being made to someone he loved. And he'd lost that.

A rapping on the nearest window distracted him from the bitter musings he'd grown overly familiar with recently. It was an owl, one of the school ones. He opened the window and let the bird flutter in and perch on his arm. He took a letter off its leg. The handwriting was eerily similar to his own, and he recognised it instantly.

Uncle Alphard passed in his sleep last night. The will reading is tomorrow, but Mum's been told that you're the only one he mentions by name.

Reg

The owl swooped back out the window. After a few seconds, Sirius crumpled the letter in his fist. Then he stuck his fist outside and let go, watched the balled up letter plummet down the side of the castle. He turned from the window before it hit the ground.

The only family member with any positive meaning in his life had died. Sirius had known it was coming for some time, but that didn't take away from the sting. He wanted to curl into a ball, right in the middle of the corridor. But by now, Sirius was more than accustomed to not getting what he wanted.

He stalked through the corridors, furious at the world, furious at himself, at every little thing he could find a way to pin blame on. At the end of one corridor he saw a pudgy boy sitting on the floor and looking at the ceiling.

"Up you get, Pete," Sirius called. "We have a train to catch."

Peter groaned from the floor and started pushing himself up. "Marlene's set her wedding for January."

Sirius glowered as he helped Peter up, and they started walking together. "Bloody brilliant."

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Anton hurried through yet another Muggle home, wondering how many he would have broken into by the end of the day. He came out of a corridor, into the living room. Anton stepped towards the fireplace, and after pulling a brown bag filled with green powder from his pocket, he paused.

Pulse.

A searing pain in his arm, and he almost dropped the bag. The Dark Mark felt like it was writhing about on his arm. He didn't have much time. They were coming.

He lit the fire with his wand. Licked his lips. He had Floo'd a handful of times today already. Every time, he found peace for all of ten minutes before his arm would pulse again, the Death Eaters swarmed in again, and he would have to run again. As usual, it was his own fault for limiting the Floo network to only within this blasted country. There was no real escape. Not unless…

Anton turned, looked back towards the front door. Nothing yet. He closed his eyes, took a breath.

-betrayal filled Caradoc's eyes moments before green light, he toppled, lifeless, hit the ground-

Anton opened his eyes and placed the bag of Floo powder on the mantle above the fireplace. There was only one way to survive.

He held his left arm out, pulled the sleeve up past his bicep. The Dark Mark leered up at him, ugly, grotesque. He conjured a short piece of rope and tied it around his forearm, an inch below the elbow. Then he conjured a soft rubber ball, opened his mouth wide, and fit it in place between his tongue and his teeth. Finally he held his wand to his forearm, just before the point where the Dark Mark started. A nonverbal incantation, and a small white light glowed from the tip of his wand. He could feel the heat against the hairs on his arm. It was scorching, searing.

The door burst open, and he heard shouts, saw lights flash in the corridor.

He took a long, deep breath.

In one motion he swiped sharply, through flesh and bone, and Anton screamed as the limb was cut clean off. The smell of burned meat filled the air and his severed hand hit the ground, but Anton didn't notice. He stumbled, almost fell to his knees. He was biting down so hard the rubber ball was splitting in his mouth. Through teary eyes he could make out masked figures coming out of the corridor.

He managed to force himself to think. He reached for the bag on the mantle, threw the Floo powder into the fireplace and started falling into the flames just as the Death Eaters waved their wands.

Green engulfed him on all sides.

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The Hogwarts Express chugged past meadows and fields, making steady progress back to London.

James was still glaring at everyone in the compartment. "I can't believe," he started again, "that all of you ditched breakfast and left me with Frank and Alice."

"Oi," said Alice reproachfully, her head on her boyfriend's shoulder.

"You're both great," James said impatiently, "but I had to watch you two cuddle the whole time I ate!"

"I was there," Marlene pointed out.

"Yeah," James snorted, "after I finished."

"I was still there."

"I came eventually, too," said Remus.

"Too late," James grumbled.

"I just wasn't hungry," said Lily brightly.

James scowled at her, but it quickly turned into a grudging grin. He couldn't help it, he was too excited. James still couldn't believe he was going to spend the entire summer living with Lily Evans. What in the world would the James of years past make of that?

He would faint, most likely.

The rest of the group had received the news with equal shock. Although that had quickly been followed by shrugs, and different iterations of, "Yeah, that makes sense."

Regardless, it was looking like quite possibly the greatest summer of James' life. Just Sirius, Lily, and himself. His best friend and the love of his life. What more could he ask for?

Sirius nudged him then, and tilted his head slightly towards the compartment door. Without pause, James nodded, and told the compartment that the two of them were off to fetch some sweets from the trolley lady to bring back for them all. After taking all their orders, the boys stepped outside and slid the compartment door shut behind them. They started walking down the aisle, skirting past other students between compartments.

"What's up?" James asked.

Sirius stopped walking, and James stopped with him. "My Uncle Al finally kicked it."

"Padfoot…" James was speechless. He stared at his friend, unsure how much more the boy could lose. He pulled Sirius in, hugged him, as tightly as he remembered his mother and father's hugs. As far as family went, James realized he was the closest thing left.

"I'm alright," Sirius said gruffly, clapping James' back.

James didn't let go. "No you're not."

"No." Sirius' voice cracked. "But I will be."

James pulled away then, but kept a hand on his shoulder. "How did it happen?"

"In his sleep. The will reading is tomorrow, and from the sounds of it he didn't leave anything for anyone else in the family."

James' eyebrows rose high. "That could be a ridiculous amount of money."

"Yeah." Sirius' voice had settled. "Depending on how it goes tomorrow, I might go out and find my own place. My own money, and home. I think it will be good for me."

James wrinkled his nose.

"I know how you feel about that," Sirius added, laughing a little. "But I'm doing it."

James sighed, and gave his friend a sad smile. "I think it's for the best too. And you know you always have a home with me, should you ever get bored."

"I know," he said. James nodded, clapped Sirius on the shoulder. Then Sirius offered a sly smile. "You know, this means that it'll just be you and Evans. For the whole summer."

James froze. "Oh. Merlin's beard, Evans is going to think I planned this."

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At King's Cross Station, each student met with their families, and off they went.

For the first time, Lily had no one to meet. No Mum or Dad. Not even Petunia and Vernon, though that was no fault of theirs. She wasn't going to live with them.

She turned, as Alice, Frank, Marlene, Peter, and Remus all went their own ways, to look at James. He, too, was looking around the station, and the unnerved look on his face told her she had made the correct choice. They were in the very same boat, and they deserved to have each other.

"Straight to yours, then?" she asked, holding her suitcase aloft.

He nodded, eyes still scanning each face around the station, looking for people they both knew weren't there. Sirius appeared on his other side, a portion of James' uneasiness on his own face.

He nudged James and winked at Lily. "I'll see you guys there."

James nodded, Lily smiled, and with a pop, Sirius disapparated. Lily turned to James then. He didn't seem sure what to do. She held out a hand to him, getting his attention. He gazed at her hand, looking lost. "Shall we?" she asked.

His eyes flicked up to her face, and the lost expression was replaced by something that made Lily's heart warm. Admiration? Reverence? Even… love? She would never get over the way he looked at her.

"We shall," he said, taking her hand.

There was one last moment of looking around. No one else at the station was there for them. They had only each other in that moment.

Then they spun, felt the world press in on them as their bodies were squeezed through space, distorted, contorted, and suddenly it stopped.

Pop.

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A/N: We are officially at the halfway point of the story! That's right, this story will have 60 chapters. All the work I just did? I now have to do it again. Great. No, that does not mean I will drag a will they/won't they with James and Lily all the way to chapter 60. In fact, we're actually getting quite close to the moment we've all been waiting for. Should I be writing this? Probably not. But I can just edit this out when I post the next chapter and you'll all be none the wiser. My point is, the story will actually go right up to the last day of seventh year, and a bit beyond that. No, I will not write all the way past seventh year. In my experience, Marauder era stories have a very short shelf life after James and Lily get together. [DELETED] chapters after that are as much as I can milk it before I fear you'll all get bored, so we end at 60.

Before starting the next chapter, I will be going back through these 30 and ironing out any typos, polishing the sentences, and fixing inconsistencies (like House-elf vs house elf, third year vs Third Year, Apparate vs apparate). The wait, then, before the next chapter might be a little while. Feel free to bomb me with reviews in the meantime! It's a surefire way to get me to hack away at my keyboard. I expect the next few chapters will be some of the most fun I've had writing, and I hope you all enjoy it just as much. To give you an idea of what I'm talking about, next chapter you can expect: Jily supermarket shopping, magic seafaring pirates, were-wolf hunting, and more of the PREWETT BROTHERS (did you like them? I hope you did). Yes, that is all in one chapter. I really do amaze myself.

I'm-not-joking-please-review-I'm-so-insecure