Drarryfanficsao3

by Suicide44

Dhhdgd

228. qq

Preface

made weak by time and fate, but strong in willPosted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/15086759.

Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

F/M, Gen, M/M

Fandom:

Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Relationship:

James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black & James Potter & Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter & Lily Evans Potter, Harry Potter & James Potter & Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew & James Potter, Petunia Evans Dursley & Lily Evans Potter, Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Narcissa Black Malfoy & Andromeda Black Tonks, Sirius Black & Peter Pettigrew

Character:

James Potter, Lily Evans Potter, Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Peter Pettigrew, Andromeda Black Tonks, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Tom Riddle Voldemort

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, James Potter Lives, Lily Evans Potter Lives, BAMF Lily Evans Potter, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, or near enough that i'll ever write, Prompt Fic, Sister-Sister Relationship, Family Drama, Fantastic Racism, lily DOES turn the resurrection stone into a portkey and, i believe that tells you everything you need to know about this story, Different Chosen One, Complicated Relationships, Redemption, Reconciliation, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, (YES! I can FINALLY add that tag!)

Collections:

Home of Magnificent Fanfiction,

5 Star HP Works,

James and Lily Fanfics,

I Found These Masterpieces And Fell In Love

Stats:

Published: 2018-07-14 Completed: 2019-11-23 Chapters: 5/5 Words: 72396

made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

by Dialux

Summary

In one world, James Potter is wandless when he faces Voldemort.

In another, he's not.

[Apocalypse AU, where both Potters survive.]

Notes

I saw this post on tumblr, and it overtook my brain, so... I've regressed to 2013 again. Enjoy?

in the dark times

In one world, James Potter is wandless when he faces Voldemort.

In another, he's not.

...

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off-"

The door blasts inwards and Lily runs. She hears, distantly, over the heartbeat loud in her ears- roaring, hissing, crashes. James has always been best at transfiguration. Their ground floor will be a battlefield: transfigured animals and stone and stuffing littering the entire floor.

Maybe Petunia's godawful vase will finally do some good,she thinks spitefully, slamming the nursery door shut behind her.

(Lily, everyone knows, is good at potions, better at charms.

What very few people know is what she's best at: warding.)

The spells light up the door, wreathing it red and silver. It will hold, even against Voldemort, but not nearly long enough. Reinforcements won't arrive for them. Nobody even knows where they are; which of James' many properties they've chosen. With the recent losses in the Order, they've adopted a policy of letting the Auror Department be the first responders, at least until their ranks are thickened a little.

But none of that will help Lily save Harry. None of that will help her save James.

She holds Harry close, then deposits him behind her, into the crib.

Warding is not a skill that muggleborns are supposed to be good at. It's built off of family books, bound in blood, and Lily's just isn't red enough. But Lily has brains and a wand and a tongue sharp as a razor- she's goodat warding, has an instinctive understanding of when she's misstepped, and an even better nose for finding solutions that the original warders couldn't understand even if they tried.

How do you beat death?She's searched for the answer for nearly a year.

Now she knows.

Soon, Voldemort will enter. He'll be angry; being denied anything makes him angry, and these wards will be strong enough to sting him into rage.

Lily cocks her head, listening. There's a far cry of pain, and she shudders, hands trembling. James is hurting.She wants to go to him. She wants to magic them away, the three of them hiding somewhere else, somewhere safe and sound- but it looks like this is the end. Anti-apparition wards are hot over her shoulders, like fur coats on a muggy summer day. The floo is down. Brooms are hidden in the cupboard under the kitchen sink, because Harry's managed to sneak his toy out from everywhere else.

The wood on the stairs creak.

She knows, then, that James is dead. Lily chokes on her grief and tightens her grip on her wand. Three times they've defied Voldemort, and thrice have they survived.

The end.

The door starts to glow. Lily throws some more wards up, but they're faltering things, frail and easily batted aside. The wood bends and curves before shattering into a thousand splinters.

Lily conjures a wind that makes her lungs ache, rage and hatred hot in her limbs, and sends the splinters straight back into Voldemort's face.

He roars, wand slashing upwards. He deflects most of them, but a few get in before he can- Lily can see the pink scars, scraping blood down one temple.

"Lily Potter," says Voldemort, eyes glittering."Step aside."

"No," Lily replies, voice overloud, shaking. She's so fucking afraid."Stop. Please-"

He smiles, slow and white, like a snake baring its fangs."I'm not here for you."

"You're here for my son." Lily lifts her wand higher and plants her feet in a stance that allows her to protect Harry and still keep her balance."I'm not going to let you kill him."

"You cannot stop me."

She swallows.

"I can try," says Lily Potter, before she starts dueling Voldemort.

...

Downstairs, James Potter lies in a pool of his own blood.

His glasses have gone missing. There's a wooden leg stuck through his right thigh- the entire dinner table, lifted and dropped straight down onto him- and his wand lies just out of his grip, where it rolled away from nerveless fingers. He's close to death; James can taste it in the air, the cold that his father described on his deathbed as peppermint leaves off Orkney's coast. But James isn't dead yet.

His wife and son aren't dead either.

James can't quite breathe, not after Voldemort slammed him into the wall three times in a row. His ribs are probably broken. His wrist is definitelybroken. But James is alive.

Harry is alive. Lily is alive.

He stretches, blood slicking his fingers, a scream caught in his throat, and reaches for his wand.

...

She's never fought like this before.

Harry is sobbing behind her. Voldemort is still alive, and strong, and Lily is quickly tiring.

Then there's a sound from downstairs.

Voldemort's scarlet eyes narrow."So your husband isn't dead yet."

Hope, golden and terrible, unfurls down her spine. Lily reaches behind her and grips Harry's tiny fist in her own.

"Little matter," hisses Voldemort."I'll kill him after your son. I offered you peace, Lily Potter, do not forget that. But I'm tiring of this defiance."

Tiring?

Lily laughs."He's alive," she says, as if it's an explanation.

(It is.)

...

"Bombarda,"whispers James.

...

The world teeters. Lily grabs Harry and whirls on the spot, not even waiting for the Anti-apparition wards to fall. Voldemort screams, high and piercing, and Lily changes her mind even as she turns. She knows the anti-apparition wards will fall, trusts that James hasn't failed- but she does one thing she knows he'll never forgive her for.

Lily doesn't apparate away.

She apparates downstairs.

Straight to James' side. He's bloodsoaked, unconscious, and their home is falling apart around them. Half the ceiling caves inwards, not a foot from James' face, and Lily shrieks, echoing Harry's fear. Then she gets herself under control.

She apparates James- all of James, along with the table his right leg is speared under- away with her, straight to a forest she'd gone camping in, once, years and years ago, before her parents died. Harry's screaming in one of her ears, red-faced and terrified.

Me too, bud,Lily thinks, as they land on the mossy forest growth. She bends over, bile sour in her throat. I've never been so scared, Harry.

Then she turns to James, and her heart stutters in her chest.

"Oh, Jimmy," whispers Lily. His shirt is saturated with his blood, and congealed to his skin. Lily's got some basic mediwitch training, along with the rest of the Order- Albus had insisted, and so had Madam Pomfrey- but she's not sure how much help it'll be with someone this pale, someone who's lost this much blood."What have you done to yourself?"

She puts a gentle leashing spell on Harry- it keeps him from wandering further than three meters from her, and the forest is novel enough to keep him occupied while she tends to James. But Lily doesn't have any potions, no medicines, nothing at all save for her wand, and her hands are shaking enough that it probably make matters worse.

Her husband is bleeding out in front of her, and Lily can't do anything about it.

You're a witch, aren't you?Petunia's voice asks behind her, sharp and disdainful. Be a witch. Do witchy things.

You just dueled Voldemort,Remus points out, in his gentle, incisive fashion. You've got a wand that dueled him and survived four times. You've got a mind that did the same.

Lils,says Sirius, exasperated, teasing, warm, you're not just good at warding things.

You're good at creating wards.

Creating wards out of scratch. Blooming golden, impenetrable shields out of words and magic. Are wards so different from spells?

"Episkey,"says Lily, and James' wrist rights itself with a snap.

There are times in Lily's life when she's survived things nobody else could have. She's never been able to explain it; but the world disappears, and so does Lily's fear, and all that's left of her is something cold and intent on the task in front of her.

It's like that now.

Everything- the forest, the sting of a shallow cut across her left arm, even Harry- disappears, replaced by someone who doesn't flinch at her husband's pain, who doesn't hesitate at the stink of burned flesh, who pulls together medical texts from two-three-four-ten-years' light reading previous, fighting to keep James alive against all odds.

It's past dawn when Lily breaks out of the state. James isn't exactly stable, but he's breathing, and she's certain that his ribs haven't punctured his lungs. She's vanished the table and cauterized the wound on his thigh. To fix it up further, she'll need a proper medical textbook.

To get him stable, she'll need blood-replenishing potions.

She swallows, now, stumbling back to sit against a tree. Her legs are starting to shake, more from exhaustion than from fear. If Lily isn't careful she'll go into shock herself, and she can't afford that.

Harry.She turns and looks for him, and finds him asleep on his belly, curled against a bush. Lily slumps back. I need-

I need potions. And food.

She slowly, slowly, rises to her feet. It's early enough in the morning that stores wouldn't be open; Lily can break into one of them and steal some food. She'll need to keep them safe- James can't be moved, not until she's got an idea of how to get his leg fixed up, not until he gets some more blood in him. Lily waves her wand at the large, broad leaves near her and strips off the bloody shirt she's wearing, swapping it for the still-fibrous, shapeless garment she transfigured.

Seven out of ten, Miss Evans,Lily imagines, in McGonagall's strict, slightly disappointed voice. I expected better of you.

"So did I, Professor," she mumbles under her breath, shimmying out of her pyjamas and into a weirdly lopsided skirt. It's fine. The new fashion's bright colors. Lily thinks about her mother, wearing wide skirts and one-inch heels until the day she died, and has to swallow inappropriate giggles.

"Sleep well, Harry," she whispers to him, and then to James, she presses a cold hand to his cold hand."See you soon."

...

Sirius' wand lights up the street, wreathing it in shining green and gold.

"No," he whispers, staring at the wreckage. There's no smoke. Just empty places, where four walls and a roof had once been; where, now, there's just a pile of bricks and wood and stuffing.

"James," says Sirius, shaking. "James.Oh, god-"

He wades into the mess, ducking under the collapsed ceilings and shoving his way through the splintered barriers- and then Sirius stops.

He stops thinking.

He stops breathing.

There, under his boots: a dark liquid. Sirius knows what it is, even before he touches it. Blood.

A low, ragged sound is torn out of his chest. Sirius lights up his wand and stares, horrified, at the sheer amount of it. It's sunk into the wooden floorboards. He turns in a slow circle, and Sirius wants to be sick as he sees the destruction, the things that had, not one day ago, been windows or stuffed animals or tables too big for the houses they were being forced into.

There's a small figurine under his boot, glassy and reflective.

Sirius smashes it under his foot.

...

They come for him, the Aurors, hours too late.

Sirius goes quietly.

...

An hour later, she's got fruit and bread, scavenged from a nearby grocery store. Lily shivers as she eats it cold- the morning is freezing, biting into her thin clothing, frightening her when she considers how fragile James' health is- so she layers warming charms on him, and then wards around them, both physical and magical.

Her hands shake as she feeds Harry.

It hurts to leave them behind once more, but Lily cannot keep James alive without potions. And Harry would only make things more complicated.

Sirius,she thinks, even as she wards her clothes against detection. I could-

But they need to survive first, and Sirius doesn't have potions. St. Mungo's will be closely watched. There's only one other place that Lily can think of which will have the sheer amount of healing potions she needs.

Hogwarts.

Harry can't leave the circle Lily's circumscribed around him. James is in a coma, angled to catch the sun in a few hours, as soon as it's higher than the trees. Lily's skin looks grey and sallow, and she's hungry, still, likely from all the magic she's expended. She still hasn't slept.

She draws her wand and turns around, and apparates straight into Hogsmeade.

A few charms to change the color of her hair, her height, and her voice later- Lily sneaks into Honeydukes and into their back room. She's got hair the color of dishwater, eyes that look more blue than green, and is short enough to make people just skim their eyes over her. Adults don't notice children, not in a school.

It takes more effort than it should to transfigure a Hogwarts cloak, but Lily manages; there's a yellow fringe from the leaf she transfigured it out of, but being mistaken for a Hufflepuff will only keep her profile low.

Albus would help,a voice whispers inside her head, and Lily's seized by a terrible desire to do that- to throw herself at him and beg him to save her, save her family. He's done it before. To know you're alive...

Peter's betrayed them, though. Peter went and told Voldemort, and now James is in a coma, and Harry's spelled asleep because Lily can't risk him being awake. If the person they trusted most could betray them- Lily won't trust anyone else. Not until James is awake, not until she can speak to him.

Voldemort came for Harry.

He won't be able to find them if nobody knows where they are.

That decided, Lily ducks into the secret passage and starts walking. James had showed it to her ages ago, back when he'd wanted to indulge her sweet tooth- Lily tries to forget that memory now.

It hurts in her like an abscess. It's so difficult sometimes, to remember how young and foolish they'd been; how important it had seemed to be taken seriously by the adults, how proud Lily had been to stand in the same room as men like Caradoc Dearborn and Benjy Fenwick, women like Dorcas Meadowes.

Now, Lily's got blood under her nails and spellfire searing her tongue.

She's dueled Voldemort four times. She's survived all of them.

Lily's outlived her heroes.

...

Poppy lifts an eyebrow at the scrawny Hufflepuff who enters the Hospital wing.

"Need something?"

The girl pushes hair behind one ear and shuffles her feet."My- my friend," she says haltingly,"-he's hurt. We were just throwing sparks, Madam Pomfrey!" She looks back at Poppy, eyes wide and shining."Professor Flitwick's justgot us lifting feathers. I swear I didn't-"

Poppy moves to her stores, waving her wand to disable the wards, even as the girl continues spewing out a long, winding story. She doesn't remember the girl- she's a tall one for a first year, but it does take time for even Poppy to remember names. And the girl seems excitable; the boy's likely not even properly hurt. A little scrape, or even a sprained wrist from falling off-

"Stupefy,"Poppy hears from behind her, just as she enters her storeroom, and then she knows nothing more.

...

Lily regrets not catching Pomfrey, but there's no time for anything more than an apologetic look at her prone form on the floor.

She takes one of the Pepper-ups and throws the glass against the ground, hard as she can manage. The glass doesn't break- so it's spelled unbreakable; Lily sweeps three shelves' worth of potions into her bag, grunting as the bag becomes almost too heavy to carry.

In Godric's Hollow, Lily'd had a bag that could have fit an entire shop's supplies without feeling an ounce heavier.

What she has now is a bag magicked out of leaves, transfigured out of branches to give it a sturdy feel. It's already stretched to the brim; glass shines out of its depths.

Then she sees, neatly stacked on another shelf in the corner of the storeroom: Pomfrey's medical texts.

Featherlight charms take power, and Lily's already nearly scraping the bottom of her magical reserves. She needs rest, needs food, needs-

I need James alive.

And for that, Lily needs medical books.

"Pondere,"says Lily, and staggers as her world goes grey for a long, breathless moment."Oh- fuck-"

She comes back to herself on her knees, bile and blood in her mouth. Slowly, Lily levers herself upright. Her bones pop. She hisses out through her teeth, then reaches for a Pepper-up on a nearby shelf. It's dangerous- Pepper-up makes the drinker feel more energetic, but that doesn't mean they are. Lily's written essays on witches and wizards burning their magic out from too much Pepper-up.

My entire life is dangerous now.

She tosses it back in two quaffs.

Steam erupts out of her ears, and her world goes as sharp and bright as it had gone grey a moment before. Then, with a defiant wave of her wand, she shrinks the texts and shoves them into her pocket.

Pomfrey is still crumpled on the ground. She'll wake soon. Lily hefts the bag over her shoulder and drags Pomfrey inside the storeroom- she stashes her wand outside, and physically locks the door.

It'll delay her from notifying Albus, hopefully long enough for Lily to leave Hogwarts.

The bag bulges under her hands; Lily keeps a tight grip on her wand. She can feel her charms wavering. The stick-straight hair she's charmed is curling back into her natural waves, heavier and longer. Her shoes are pinching, because charms on inanimate objects- like her shoes- always hold for longer than charms on living things- like her feet. There's no excuse for Lily to wear a hat, but she wishes for one, desperately, even as she trips and skids her way to the third floor corridor. She just needs to be out from under the castle, and she'll be able to escape-

The one-eyed witch's hump closes over her head, throwing her into sudden darkness, and Lily breathes out for the first time in too long.

Then she runs.

It's too noisy- the glass clinks too much, echoing all along the tunnel- but she can't stop. It's the first time she's given in to the ache in her muscles since Voldemort showed up.

Panic swallows her whole, red and bright.

Not tears. Lily's hyperventilation has always been silent.

She'd once- in the library- Mulciber-

Mary Macdonald had cried so hard, years and years ago, after Mulciber had raped her. Lily had held her, and then she'd gone to the library and proceeded to have a panic attack for the first time in her life. Hogwarts was supposed to be safe, but that had been the first time it was made clear to her: it wasn't, it isn't,and her world will never be safe unless she makes it so. She'd been silent then, and she's silent now; her knees bruised in the dirt, her throat clogged with all the fear that she's only able to feel now, hours and hours after the fact.

A distant shout breaks her out of her wet-eyed trembling.

Gritting her teeth, Lily apparates.

...

"Albus," says Minerva, one hand resting on his shoulder.

He is so tired.

"There weren't bodies," Albus says, quietly.

"No," replies Minerva."But the home- did you see-"

"Yes. I saw."

The sun had still been red, when Albus arrived- the kind of red that, in ages past, muggles would have called an omen. The Potters' house had always been small and neatly kept, even when they were in the middle of moving; James had never been able to accept anything less.

It is now a ruin.

"I've movedthe Longbottoms into Hogwarts, as you asked." Minerva hesitates. "The Aurors arrested Sirius in Godric's Hollow this morning. He's being moved to Azkaban as we speak."

He lifts his head. "They were such bright children."

Minerva steps away, one hand white-knuckled on the balcony railing. The early morning light throws her face into sharp relief. She's not looking at Albus; when she finally does, there's a cast to it that makes him feel stung, like flame that's eaten through wood and emerged into open air, hotter than expected.

"They made their decisions," she says. "Sirius- I thought he loved them. I've never known anyone to love another so fiercely as that boy loved James Potter. I still don't understand-" Minerva shakes her head, like a cat confronted with a threat, like a lioness thrown into a cage, denying a truth's very existence. "I don't understand," she finishes, sadly.

Albus closes his hand over hers, soft on the marble.

"We will bury them in a few days."

He must meet with Severus, after this. That will be a difficult- and bitter- conversation, for Severus doesn't do anything half as well as he does bitterness. And after- oh, after, there's Remus, there's Peter, there's Alice, there's Marlene- the Potters were well-loved, and that- that's a rarity, right there, that love that burst into being around them. That kindness, that war always seemed to swallow whole, that they'd kept alive for so very long.

"I'll be there," says Minerva, before she walks away.

We've lost too much,thinks Albus, weary and cold. These wars- we always lose our best to it.

(Poppy Pomfrey comes shrieking in before he can do anything more, salt-pepper hair askew, wand gripped tight. Thieves,she cries, sparks bleeding out of the end of her wand, purple and hot enough to scorch his carpets, took my entire stock of potions- locked me inside-

They search for them, of course, but never find any more clues.)

Albus buries the Potters on a chilly winter morning, the graves just as empty as his hope, and the world continues spinning onwards.

...

James lives.

Lily shakes apart again, on the forest floor, but Harry brings her out of it- his sweet warmth, the weight that settles in her arms and refuses to be moved for anything.

"I almost lost you," Lily whispers into his hair, flyaway spiky like his father."I swear that won't ever happen again, Hars. Your daddy and I are going to be right here. It'll take more than a Dark Lord to kill us."

Harry, one year old and proud of it, gums at her fingers. He's got almost all his teeth, all save for the first four, so he looks like a beaver in reverse. Remus had once spent an entire afternoon warning James that Harry's teeth would come in crooked. Those that don't come first come crooked,he'd said, loud and flushed, and Lily had burned her fingers on the china from laughing through a spell.

Teeth's not what that's referring to,James had said.

His glasses had been angled, Lily remembers- the sun had been shining from behind him, and the light had caught on the corner of his frames, rainbows splayed like vines all over her walls. She's known a lot of happiness in her life, but never the kind that came with James, that he brought with him without meaning to; that belonged to him as inextricably as his glasses or his stupid collection of deer figurines.

"Peter was never crooked," Lily says quietly, tearing up grass that Harry inspects curiously. James is asleep- properly asleep, not in a coma- in front of her, and she's exhausted, but it's a kind of exhausted that's so tired she can't find it in herself to sleep. "He never came first, but he never tried to cheat either. I always thought he'd be good for Hufflepuff because of it. But I guess loyalty wasn't his thing."

She has another hour before she can safely give James another dose of blood-replenishing potion, so Lily stretches out her toes and leans back, resting her skull against the moss.Harry's a crawling weight pressed up against the side of her stomach. They're all alone in the world, the three of them, and as safe as she can make them.

Lily stares into the sky, sunny and too-bright for November, right up until she can see spots across her vision even when she closes her eyes.

Those deer figurines, lovingly collected, polished, protected- are gone, now.

...

Remus holds a wooden deer. James had carved it when they were twelve, young and brash and fearless, sure the world would bend to them. The night after he told Remus he knew-knew what Remus was-he'd handed Remus a piece of wood that was so crudely carved it barely suggested the shape of a deer.

It had been a promise, though Remus hadn't known it then.

The figurine is worn smooth: softened by time, the hard edges rounded and shining. Remus hasn't gone a day without it for almost a decade.

(In another world, Remus has a son. In another world, the tiny wooden figure's secrets die with Remus, but the wood lives on, a loving part of Teddy Lupin's childhood.)

In this world, Remus weeps, and salt stains the pale wood dark as night.

...

Once she thinks James can be moved without setting back his healing, Lily does, out of that forest and into another, further south.

Her father had been from Birmingham, a city boy born and true. But Lily's mother had been from Wales- a small seaside town near Barmouth. It's one of her oldest memories: clambering over rough stone and shale with Petunia up sheer cliffs, sleeping off the weariness in the caves, slipping and sliding in the rain.

They apparate near enough to the cliffs, but scrambling up them with a one-year old and a comatose patient is enough to make Lily tear at her hair.

In the end, she hoists Harry in one hand and directs James's stretcher with her wand.

It doesn't go easy.

Lily swears loudly as her wand slips in her sweaty grip. It's the fourth time it's happened; every single time, her heart plummets as she scrambles to keep James aloft even as her transfigured shoes and clothes stick and slide along the sandy stone. Keeping her own balance is hard enough. Juggling Harry and James and a locomotor mortisthat's just extended enough to shift her center of balance- Lily can scarcely hold it all together.

When she finally enters one of the caves, Lily sets Harry down, guides James in, and then sinks to her own knees, wobbling.

She laughs, and there's tears in it, but she doesn't care; Lily is alive, and all her muscles are aching, and fear is curled in her gut, and she's never felt so alive,every inch of her singing with the life still sewn deep into her blood and bone.

You tried to kill me,she thinks, fingers deep in damp sand, hair matted with sweat and dirt, her son crawling over too-sharp stone, her husband bloodied and broken next to her. You didn't succeed.

...

Severus doesn't flee.

He is not a Gryffindor; bright sunlight is not his to boast of. His inheritance is a dark cottage from the wrong side of town, a name with syllables that echo like a snake's, and a mind to sharpen his wand and hone his tongue.

(He's lost his heart- that, at least, has been buried with Lily Evans in Godric's Hollow's cemetery.)

He remains in Hogwarts, in the darkness of the dungeons. Severus serves two masters and fights in a war that leaves him cold, a shell and a caricature; alive, despairing.

"I'm sorry," says Dumbledore, and Severus hates him, viciously, like he's never hated anything else: dizzying, all-consuming.

It isn't courage that makes him stay.It isn't intelligence, either- if Severus were smart, he'd flee to a hilly cabin in the middle of Asia, and never once look back.

It's certainly not loyalty.

Self-knowledge,thinks Severus, as he restocks the infirmary with better potions than Slughorn had ever managed. Icannot live with myself if I run from the man who killed Lily, so I will remain.

Redemption,he thinks later, alone in his rooms, exhausted and bloody with the blood of others. There are sins that cannot be erased, but can be balanced.

Later, staring up at the Dark Lord's throne, empty and pale as bone, Severus decides.

Hatred,he thinks, and lifts his wand aloft, green light blooming at the tip. I hate you, and you, and you-

Three men die under his wand that night. Severus doesn't regret any of it.

He doesn't know of a life other than this.

...

The cave is low enough to have seaweed strewn over the floor. Lily spends the afternoon weaving it, between tending to James and playing with Harry. It pricks at her fingers, salt pruning the skin; Lily doesn't care. It feels good to have something to physically do.

That night, Harry falls asleep in her lap. Lily sits at the lip of the cave, cold wind blowing through her hair, watching the stars: they're brighter than she's ever seen them. The moon hangs full and fat over the horizon. She thinks there's a storm on its way- when she was younger, Lily'd had the uncanny ability to know when to scramble home, getting to shelter minutes before a summer storm hit- but now, all she knows is the salt and stone and gentle wash of waves on sand, the prickle between her shoulderblades that could be from fear or from an encroaching storm or some actinic mix of both.

"Lils?"

Slowly, as if in a dream, Lily turns.

James is trying to sit up. He's not able to- Lily'd managed to stick the bandages around his wrist to the bandages around his ribs, so half his body is practically immobile- but he's awake, and struggling for it.

"Don't-" Lily stands, and promptly forgets about Harry for a half-breath before her mind catches up with her body; she has to catch him and soothe him back to sleep before turning back to James,"-just lie back, there's nothing you can-"

"Oh, fuck," says James, slumping back onto the bed. Lily cuts herself off as his voice grows louder."That hurts,goddamn."

There's a makeshift cradle in the corner of the cave that Lily built, stacking stones on top of each other and keeping it all together with a permanent sticking charm. It won't do forever, but for a temporary bed, it's good enough. She goes over there and deposits Harry into it, then returns to James.

Her hands are shaking, just a little.

"What hurts?"

James rolls his eyes at her."Everything. My hand. My chest. My leg. My tongue,Lils, what happened that made my tongue burn, I don't understand-"

"Um," says Lily,"that might have been the blood-replenishers. Or the mix of bone-setting charms and blood-replenishers."

"You tried to set my bones after giving me a blood replenisher?" James asks, aghast.

She flushes."I was very worried."

"It's the first thing Pomfrey told us not to do!"

"I forgot."

"It's made people spontaneously combust!"

"I forgot, Jimmy," Lily says, stepping closer to him, sinking to her knees and slowly rubbing a lock of his hair between her fingers. It's soft- it's so much softer than it looks, and Lily always forgets that until she's got it in her hands."There was so much happening- I forgot." She feels her lips twitch upwards, the smile quavery."It all worked out, though, didn't it?"

James sighs in quiet surrender, eyes drifting closed, and she lifts his unbandaged arm to drape it over her lap, heavy and warm.

"How long?" he asks.

"Three days," Lily replies, soft and threadbare. All of her feels soft, suddenly, with James so warm next to her, his fingers threaded through her own, his hair curling against his temples in sharp, spiky angles. Relief comes in the form of lassitude, spreading rich warmth through her limbs."D'you remember what happened?"

"I remember someone being a really bad trick-or-treater," says James.

She huffs a laugh and settles down, next to James, shoulder to neck, arms settled across each other's stomachs, hips pressed together, side-to-side.

"I was scared," Lily confesses, into the salty, sweaty side of James' neck."I thought you'd die- and that I'd have to teach Harry how to play Quidditch- you knowhow rubbish I am with brooms-"

James curls his uninjured arm up, the backs of his fingers brushing over her collarbone."That's the real tragedy here, isn't it? Poor Hars, stuck with a mother who'd hide the brooms under the kitchen sink-"

"-it's been four months,when'll you let go of that?"

"Never," announces James, and his eyes- those lovely, dark eyes- are bright as the stars outside when he tugs at her hair playfully."The house is ruined now. Those poor brooms, they'll never escape. Which means I can rag you on it forever."

"Bastard," says Lily, affectionately, settling closer to him.

She sleeps, and for just one night, Lily can hold her world in her arms.

For one long, lovely night, she lets herself believe she's safe.

...

The next day, James sits up.

Lily'd left in the morning and returned with a basket of apples, stolen from a nearby orchard. She'd taken Harry with her, which is why James feels free to swear: he hadn't lied the night before, when he told Lily that every part of him hurt.

It isn't like he isn't grateful. James is,which is half the fucking problem. He's stupidly, desperately grateful that he's alive, that he can even feel the pain, that he isn't buried in a cemetery, just another name of the war's casualties.

But it's difficult.

James is the healer, among his closest friends- he learned with Sirius and Remus, because werewolves aren't gentle with their playmates and even if they aren't turned into werewolves in their animagus forms, the injuries they incur are transferred. There had only been so many times Pomfrey wouldn't have asked questions, so James had- in a spurt of insight that's regrettable only in that he hasn't had more of them- learned as much healing as he could, sneaking books out of the Hogwarts and Potter libraries with careful cunning.

James is the healer. He's never been the healed.

And he'd never known, intimately, how truly infuriating it was, to be unable to move, to find it painful to fucking breathe-

"James!"

"Lils?"

Lily enters, Harry balanced on her hip, a basket bumping in behind them. She hasn't tied her hair up; it's loose and wild around her face, and there's such warm laughter in her eyes that James feels a smile curl at his own lips.

"The charm went awry," she says a little breathlessly, pressing a hand over Harry's head as the basket swings in around them like a cumbersome bludger."I put a little too much energy into- oh, Merlin-" Lily sets Harry down and he scrambles towards James, giggling. "James,a little help would be-"

James reaches for his wand, but his fingers close on nothing. He remembers- his broken wrist, the twitch of his wand along the syllables of bombarda,fire and dust and blackness full of heat like hell's own flames-

Amusement is extinguished like a candle.

"I can't," he says.

Lily turns to him. Whatever she sees in his face- it turns her quiet, and she silently removes her wand from her sleeve and waves it. The bucket clatters to the floor. James wraps one hand around Harry and stares, defiantly, angrily, at the cave floor.

He wants-

"I don't have my wand," says James.

"No," agrees Lily, moving into the room cautiously."No- I had bigger things on my mind."

"Than my wand."

"Like your life,James."

His chest aches, from more than broken ribs.

"Lily-" James averts his face, before he lifts it to meet her gaze. "Lily."

After a long moment, she seats herself on the opposite cave wall. Her thick hair doesn't leave her looking wild and free, now, but rather small. Pale and narrow and strained, under the bravado.

"What are we doing?" James asks quietly.

"Running," she answers.

James runs his hand through Harry's hair, leaning down and stamping a kiss to his forehead. God, he's so small. He used to be even smaller. And there's a madman out there who wants to kill him, all for being born at a particular time- James is so angry-

He wants-

"Two of us," says James."Against an army."

"We're not dead yet."

"And for how long'll we last? Before one of them trips on us by complete accident- before- before- one of us makes a mistake! Because we will, this is whywe didn't go on the run before, this is why we decided to stay in a warded house!"

Lily folds her arms over her knees."That plan didn't work out, James. It isn't like we didn't try. He's killed entire families, burned down houses that have lasted for centuries. Or have you forgotten what happened to the McKinnons?"

The McKinnons were known for earth magic. Their Head- a crotchety old man named Martin- had denounced Voldemort in front of the Wizengamot for destroying the old groves in the north. Three days later, James had arrived at McKinnon Cottage to see it buried: attic to basement, a mountain where before there had been only a manor.

The McKinnons had been buried alive, from the Head to the youngest child.

"I haven't forgotten," James says hoarsely."But Merlin, Lily, what were you thinking when you brought us to a forest?"

"I was thinking," says Lily, slowly, "that I couldn't trust anyone."

Oh, Morgana's tits, this is-

"We have to-"

"No," says Lily, and shakes her hair over her shoulder, eyes so bright they score him right to the heart."No, let's talk about that, James. Peter betrayed us. He told Voldemort, and that leaves us here."

"He could've been captured-"

"Jimmy," says Lily, sadly, "do you believe that?"

Yes,thinks James. Yes, I believe that. I loved Peter, and he loved me, and he would never-

"No," is what comes out of his mouth, anguished and sharp-edged as a blade.

Lily doesn't move- Harry, who'd been chewing on an apple core, abruptly throws it off to the side and starts crying at the sudden contraction of James' arm around him- but Lily doesn't react; she's focused on James, and her eyes are soft, her entire face is so soft and sad and lovely, and James wants-

"You're going to recover," she says."We're going to survive, we're going to live,and Voldemort will die before he can ever touch our son." She sweeps forwards, hands cold as she grips his arm, their son hiccuping between them."And nobody will stop us, James, not your friends, not my friends, not Albus, not the Order."

"You don't trust any of them?"

"Right now- I think we can keep this between us."

James is a Potter.

People don't understand- Potters aren't like Blacks, aren't like Malfoys. Family matters to Blacks; money matters to Malfoys. To Potters, it's the legacythat's important. Did you leave the world a better place than you entered it? Did you try your hardest, over and over again, at your lowest and your worst?

He's so tired.

But there are times when he knows he's growing up- when the world is cold, and his lungs aren't quite large enough for his skin, and he wants nothing more than to shrink away; but his spine just doesn't compress, his hands don't shake, his eyes remain level- and James feels it now, in this small, wind-battered cave, his wife and son in his arms.

(There is one thing James Potter wants, desperately, stupidly, with everything that he has inside of him: to not be afraid.

He kisses Lily's hair instead.)

"Yes," says James. Let them come, werewolves and vampires and Death Eaters alike. There are two people here who will defy them. There are two Potters here, whose legacy is triumph."Yes, let's do this."

...

Half of his face is scarred.

Voldemort does not scream, does not weep, does not falter, but-

But the Potters escaped. He knows they're dead; there isn't a chance for them to have survived on their own, and they haven't reached out to any of their contacts in either the Wizarding or muggle worlds. He knows they're dead, and he hates that their death has left a scar on him.

I will have them broken,he thinks, trailing sparks over his head- glamours following in its wake, replacing red, twisted skin with his familiar bone-pale appearance. When I take the government- when I hold this country- I will find their corpses. I will have their bodies stripped and whipped through every street of London.

"Blood will fall," he whispers, magic eating through his vision and turning it bright as the sun. It hurts. Voldemort revels in it."And from the impurity, Britain shall rise, stronger than ever before."

...

Two days later, Lily goes to Diagon.

She dyes her hair black and charms her eyes brown, and wears a transfigured robe that's more provocative than anything Lily would have worn by choice. A few sweeps of careful makeup later, her face looks decades older.

James and Harry remain behind.

It's dangerous. Lily knows it, knows what she's risking, but- but they need money. Gold, or pounds, whichever is necessary; and it's all sitting in a vault in Gringotts.

Gringotts has been neutral thus far. Lily's got hopes that it won't change, but if the government ever falls... that'll leave Gringotts with enough incentive to sell the information. And there are snitches everywhere.

If she's smart enough, if she's good enough, Lily will get access to the money.

Lily will be.

She has to be, so she will be.

"Be safe," says James, hands warm and large on her shoulders. Lily can see the anger in him: he hates sitting quietly while anyone risks their lives, and this is worse than even hiding in Godric's Hollow while the war rages around them. Lily lets herself slump into the warmth of his body for a long moment, and then she straightens.

"Always," she says."And you- stay down, stay safe. I'll be back soon."

"Lily-"

She kisses him. Once. Hard, teeth and noses clashing, dizzying like a slap of hot air after an evening beside a river.

Then she leans down and kisses Harry, and steps back, and lets the world resolve into a kaleidoscope of grey and green and blue.

"I love you," mouths Lily, even as she disappears.

The crack of apparition echoes in the early morning, but Lily doesn't flinch. She's wearing high-heeled boots that click along the cobblestones; Lily deliberately makes the sounds as obnoxious as she can manage and strides forwards, towards Gringotts.

The people are quieter by far than when Lily first entered the Wizarding World. The shops are shuttered; people keep their heads down and their children close. It scratches something uncomfortable in her chest.

Inside-

Inside, Lily walks over to the nearest teller.

"Good morning," she says crisply."I'm here to open certain vaults that have recently been closed by the bank."

"Didn't pay the maintenance fee?" asks the goblin.

Lily bristles, cold and disdainful. Dignity all but drips from her skin."I arrived from Switzerland,"she says."I have taken Portkey after Portkey, and your shabby excuse of a government just told me that I had to come all the way down here to open vaults that should have necessitated a will-reading-"

"Madam," interrupts the goblin with a poorly-hidden roll of his eyes,"what do you want?"

"Open the Potter vaults," snaps Lily.

The goblin blinks."Impossible. The Lord and Lady Potter have been declared dead."

"Do I look like a necromancer? I am not refuting that." Lily lifts her wand and swishes it down, sparks spitting out of the end, scorching the wooden table."I am not of Potter blood, but that is not the only way to become the owner of a house, is it?"

"There hasn't been a-"

"The magic chose me," says Lily, with relish."I have, here, Lily Potter's wand. And it works for me as well as it ever did for her."

"Madam," says the goblin, slowly, "where did you find a Lady's wand-"

This is the moment.

Lily lifts the wand, and brings it down so quickly, so sharply, that the world goes dark. This is a simple enough ward; but it's got enough moving parts that it's a delicate affair, and is esoteric enough that Lily can be sure that people inside the bank won't immediately know of it.But most importantly: it's impressive, enough that the goblins will stop asking questions.

The torches gutter out a moment before the stones above their heads turn invisible; Lily tilts her head up and watches the sunlight fall on Gringotts' marble floor for the first time since the first Rebellion's peace treaty was signed and the walls were rebuilt.

Then she turns the wand in a slow rotation, and watches the anger on the goblins' faces turn to fear as the sunlight turns dimmer and stormclouds start to form.

(People don't pay attention in History of Magic.

Lily hadn't either, to be fair- but she'd read the books before and after. She knows that goblins hate sunlight. She also knows that hatred is not the same as fear.

Goblins hate sunlight.

Goblins fearrain.)

"Master goblin," says Lily, softly,"open the vaults."

...

It isn't a permanent change, what she's done to the ceiling.

But it proves her point well enough, and was only slightly more straining to do than a strong Patronus. The goblins are cowed, Lily has access to the vaults, and once she's down there she retrieves as many of the charmed objects as she can. There won't be any more reason for her to enter Gringotts after this- the small pouches she shoves up her sleeves will directly funnel the money needed from the vault. There are even a few wands there, and Lily takes a random handful- they'll be helpful for James, even if they won't ever work as well for him as his mahogany wand- and ducks out without once looking relieved or pleased.

Displeasure is a pureblood's bread and butter. Lily leans on that heavily- lip curling, eyes narrowed, ugliness sitting on her bones just as dramatically as the makeup.

When Lily steps out of the bank, relief still doesn't lighten her shoulders.

Until she apparates, she can't appear relieved. Lily moves with easy grace instead, towards one of the apparition points, right up until she sees-

Two children, scrambling away from-

No,thinks Lily, wand already in hand, sprinting forwards as spellfire bursts into being in the far distance.

She knows that dark head of hair.

Bellatrix Black. No- Bellatrix Lestrange, now, because she'd married a man just as cruel as her, for all that Bellatrix is smarter by far. Lily's faced her on the battlefield for a long time now.

(They've almost killed each other four times.)

"James is going to killme," she mutters under her breath, before picking up her skirts and running towards the screams.

...

Bellatrix is beautiful.

Lily's not so prideful that she denies that- she knows it, like she knows that James is kind, like she knows that she loves Harry- but Bellatrix isn't the kind of beauty that Lily's ever known before. It's the kind of beauty that Lily'd seen in the coal mines near her house, before she ever learned of magic: dark, deadly, ugly.

Dangerous.

"Get behind me," she says to the two children frozen in the middle of the street. One of them is magic- Lily can feel it, tingling along her nerves, but the other looks so much like Petunia that her heart aches. They're- both of them- crying. One of Lily's hands drags them back, and the other slashes her wand down at Bellatrix, throwing her head over heels for all too brief a reprieve.

"Your parents?" demands Lily, still not turning towards them.

The younger girl- the magical one- says, shrilly,"They were right here!"

"The Professor said we'd be safe,"flares the older girl."She promised. Our parents didn't- we didn't-"

"Tough beat," agrees Lily, and tilts her head to one of the awnings."Get inside, both of you, and don't come out. If someone comes inside, smash their heads with the vases inside."

"We're not going to smash vases!"

"McGonagall," hisses the Petunia-lookalike, puffing up from the force of her outrage."She said we wouldn't have to worry. She told us-"

Lily glances back. Bellatrix is getting up. There's blood running down one of her cheeks, painting one side of her face red. She looks demented. She looks furious.

"Listen to me," says Lily, quietly, kneeling down to the girls' height. She rubs away the tears from the magicless girl's cheek. "This world is a lot of things, but safe isn't one of them. And you can run from it if you want, but it'll swallow you up sooner or later. Doesn't matter if you don't have magic. Only way to make it safer is to make it safer yourself, and sometimes that means-"

Bellatrix's spell splashes against the ground, exactly where Lily's hand had been just a moment previous.

"-smashing some vases," finishes Lily, and turns, and doesn't look behind her as she starts dueling Bellatrix.

...

Lily's good at dueling.

Bellatrix is better.

...

There's blood dribbling out of her ankle.

It's a shallow cut across her ankle, but Lily can barely walk; it must have severed tendons. Anti-apparition wards have been put up by the Death Eaters, so Lily knows nobody else is coming, not the aurors, not the Order. All she has is her own wand and wits. It's not little;against most any other person, Lily might have bet on herself. But Bellatrix is better than Lily. She always has been.

She ducks into a side alley, trying to breathe through the pain, and throws up a few of the same wards that Voldemort had punched through.Bellatrix doesn't have his raw power. This will last for just long enough that Lily can probably heal herself. That she can come up with a plan to-

As she peels the soaked linen from her skin, Lily has an idea.

Madness,she thinks, but she can't deny that she can't keep up what she's doing. Bellatrix will just wear her down until Lily makes a fatal mistake. Lily needs an advantage that Bellatrix wouldn't expect.

She doesn't know who I am,thinks Lily, wildly, slowly severing the strip of cloth. So she won't be expecting anything like our other duels.

Lily's hidden her love of warding, of rituals, for ten years. She's swallowed books whole, inhaled scraps of knowledge stolen from muggle historians and magical texts both. There's only a handful of people she'd trust to know more about rituals than she does in the entire world.

Mayans?Lily shakes her head, bracing it against the stone wall behind her. No, their rituals take too much preparation. Egyptian?But Lily's experience in Egyptian rituals come from Akhenaten's reign, which relies on sunlight. And Lily isn't going to rely on something that can be obscured by clouds or buildings or even a hand-

Indian rituals take their ayurvedic principles too seriously, and I have no idea which type Bellatrix is. Chinese rituals are balanced by the elements, not numbers; that'll go badly if I don't keep the power constant for all of them, and that'll be all but impossible in battle. The Australians...

The Australians have a decent ritual for imprisoning people in bars of living wood. But the ritual needs singing, and Lily can't carry a tune to save her life.

Which means that she'll need to develop her own ritual.

Greek rituals are quite forgiving of bastardization,she thinks, and draws two runes- the second one will spit out poison if the first is deactivated. Numerically significant numbers- three, seven, thirteen- three's the easiest to manage.

Her fingers are still red from the cloth wound around her ankle.

Lily stares at it for a long minute. She hears Bellatrix shriek, distantly, as she triggers the secondary rune, mind racing. Lily has her own blood,soaked into the fabric of her robes. She has the girl's tears, dried salt rubbed into her skin.

Let's do this,thinks Lily, mouth dry. Let us finish this.

A breath later, she explodes out of the alley with a flurry of spells. Straight into the main road, which is silent as a grave and larger, more space for the ritual to be executed. Bellatrix is right behind her, and they exchange more spells- not truly dangerous ones, just enough to drive the other backwards, thoughtless, more reaction than any action.

They settle, finally, into a circle: pacing slowly around each other, equidistant.

Lily drags her ankle alongside her, blood staining the sand beneath her shoes.

"I've never seen you before," says Bellatrix, dark eyes alight, ferocious.

"Oh," replies Lily, wand aloft."You have."

"I never forget a face."

She throws herself into a roll and lands on the opposite end of the circle, straight at Bellatrix, ankle throbbing and heart pounding. She shields Bellatrix's reflexive volley and grins when she sees the straight furrow she's left behind her in the sand.

All Lily needs now is for one spell to connect. Just one.

Calor,she thinks, desperately, and the silent spell leaves her wand, powerful enough to pierce Bellatrix's shields.

Bellatrix flinches when it connects, but when there's no effect beyond that she starts to laugh."Mudblood loving leaves you weak,darling."

Her cheeks flush. Lily watches hungrily, silently. She takes two steps back, three, and Bellatrix follows with quiet, stalking grace.

"Who're you? From the Continent? You ought to have stayed away, poor dear. Maybe than you could've lived to see night."

Please, please, please-

"Any last words?" Bellatrix asks, laughing, head tipping back.

One shining, brilliant drop of sweat falls from her temple, straight into the middle of the circle.

Rituals don't need words. All they need is intent. Desire, deep as the springs of the sea- and Lily's never wanted anything more in that moment than she's wanted to kill Bellatrix.

"Blood, cut against my will," says Lily, smiling nastily, furiously, alive, alive, alive."Tears, shed for injustice against innocents. And sweat, from cruelty unabated. Ah, Bellatrix, did you think you were getting out of this alive?"

Bellatrix's face whitens."What are you-"

"Theta," says Lily."The Greeks called it Thanatos. Do you remember who Thanatos was, Bella?"

"No," she hisses.

"Yes," replies Lily, stumbling back, pressing her back against the wall. She tilts her head up, to the sun, and she says,"Death."

When she looks back, Bellatrix is dead.

...

Lily heals herself with a quick wave of her wand, gritting her teeth against the pain, and then goes to find the girls in the shop. The Alley is filling up with people once more, so Lily's not that worried about being identified. She does take a cloak that was abandoned on the street, though, because tempting fate is never a good idea.

She doesn't know what the girls' parents look like, but she has a slowly-rising knowledge in the pit of her stomach-

The younger girl gives a cry when she sees a woman's skirt, and both of them take off. Lily winces when she sees her fear was correct: the girls' mother is dead. By avada kedavra.On their first visit to the Wizarding World.

Their father stumbles out of the dust a few minutes later and swallows the younger girl up in an embrace. Lily backs away, slowly, but then the older girl- the one who looks like Petunia- looks up at her. She's got blue eyes, like the sky above them, and her dishwater hair is drawn back into a high ponytail. By mutual agreement, they step away from the others, towards a shadowed awning.

"They would've killed us, too," she says, voice wobbling."If you hadn't stopped her."

Lily closes her eyes. The ritual had hurt, somewhere behind her ribs, and it still hurts to move. Bellatrix's blood had soaked into the sand and stone of Diagon Alley and Lily had stepped forwards, had dug through her pockets methodically, because corpses still held secrets.

"I'm not your hero," she replies.

The girl's jaw juts out. She's not pretty, not at all, but she looks so incandescently angry- Lily can see Petunia in her, can't stop seeing her sister, who hates her, who loathes Lily like Lily's loathes murderers.

Lily'sa murderer. She has fourteen lives staining her hands.

"I hit two people with those vases. But the things they were doing-" she shivers, then looks disgusted with herself for such a reaction."I can't match up with that."

"No," agrees Lily."You can't."

"Emily's not going to leave this world," she whispers.

"Listen- girl-" Lily feels the itch along her spine, the watchful eyes, and flinches."We're in the middle of a war. It isn't always like this."

"My name's Irene."

"Irene, then." Lily sighs. "You want to know how I stopped her? Bellatrix? The lunatic who was trying to kill you? I took three things. My blood, and her sweat. And you know the third?" She puts a hand on Irene's shoulder, feels the awkward angle of teenage bone and muscle."Your tears."

"'m not magic," she says.

"Magic's not everything," Lily tells her."There's more in the world than the magic that we teach: right, and knowing you're right, and fighting to make your world right.You're a third of what killed Bellatrix fucking Lestrange. You and your magicless hands."

Irene lifts her head, and she looks like she's swallowed a star."They killed my mum."

"Yeah."

"I can't do what you did."

"Nope." Lily sighs, seeing the distinctive flash of aurors' robes, and steps away, towards the area where the anti-apparition wards are flickering, faltering."But people have been trying to kill Bellatrix for years, years,and you did, at- what, fourteen? That's not something any other kid could've done."

"They," says Irene,"killed my mum."

Lily softens."I know. I know, Irene. They killed my mum, too."

"Magic's not everything."

"Not even close," Lily tells her.

Slowly, Irene nods. Lily moves further back, ready to disapparate, when Irene says, abruptly-"Wait- it's- you never told me who you are."

Lily thinks of theta, of death, of blood and salt and fear. She's had the imprint of her wand on her palms for the past week; it hasn't been more than a week since Voldemort stood in front of her, since Lily had been ready to die for her son. She's never been so lonely, so tired, so-

She's never been so fucking afraid.

But there's a girl here, who looks like Petunia, who's got a world at her fingertips that's just killed her mother. She's not looking at Lily like Lily's a hero; she's looking at Lily like Lily's a shield, a sword, something solid against the danger of the world.

(This girl's tears just killed Bellatrix Lestrange.)

I dare,she thinks, Bellatrix's blood mixing with her own on her hands, red and damning and terrible. A black cloak, stolen, is heavy around her hair. I am a flower of beauty. I am a flower of death. And I will not hide my face from the sun.

I will not die quiet.

"Call me Thanatos," says Lily, and apparates.

will there be singing?

Chapter Summary

He thinks of Harry, warm and small in his arms, a tiny, black-capped bundle that hadn't even been as long as his forearms, and shouts, "Expecto Patronus!" and-

And-

And Prongs doesn't leap from his wand.

Lily lands just out of the cave and screams as she falls- she skids down two meters of sand before she manages to stop. Her ankle is definitely broken; Lily hisses out through her teeth and drags herself upright.

She limps into the cave sweaty and disheveled, and drops as soon as she's within reach of James.

"Here," says Lily, taking the small pouch she'd retrieved from Gringotts and tossing it at James. It's charmed to be extensible, and featherlight. There's twenty wands at the bottom. "Pick your wand."

"Mummy?" asks Harry, reaching out to her dyed-black hair, eyes wide at the new color.

Lily leans back, dropping to an elbow, and groans when she jars her ankle. She lifts her other hand and catches Harry's tiny fist in hers, stretching her fingers to bop his nose.

"Yeah, buddy," she says, as lightly as she can manage. "Mummy's hurt. And her hair's messed up. Looks too much like your dad. Right ugly, don't you think?"

"Hey!" yelps James.

Lily's elbow slips out from under her. She laughs through the pain and holds her hand out, blindly, until James takes it. He's so warm. Lily doesn't close her eyes, doesn't cry, but the ache behind her ribs eases, slowly, and all but disappears when Harry starts crawling over her prone body.

...

"What happened?" James asks, quietly, that night.

Lily's ankle is bandaged. She's got a scar along one arm from Voldemort that she hadn't healed in time, and James is obsessed with it- the long, shallow cut, the way it's fading back into her freckled skin- it's a part of Lily that he doesn't know, and James can't stop sweeping his fingers over it. Harry's asleep, half on his lap, half on Lily's lap, and he's never looked sweeter than with him sleep-heavy and warm.

"Bellatrix," says Lily.

His heart skips a beat. "Lily."

"She was attacking in broad daylight," Lily says quietly. "She killed a muggleborn girl's mother. She would've killed the girl, her sister, their father- even more, likely- if I hadn't stopped her."

"Merlin, Lily," James whispers, hand smoothing down Harry's back in a vain attempt to regain his equilibrium. "I didn't even know. If she'd killed you-"

"She didn't."

"But if she had?" He reaches for his wand when he can't quite keep his hands from shaking. "I understand, I do, but- I'm allowed to worry, aren't I?"

Lily presses her head against his neck. "Yes," she says simply.

The fire flickers over her dark hair, red glinting through. The air outside their little cave is freezing, snow and ice frosting the ocean; but they've put up warming charms inside, and the stars are shining, and James swallows all the other words he wants to shout, winding his arms around Lily's waist instead.

"She's not going to be a problem now," Lily whispers into his ear.

James pauses. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," says Lily, slowly, triumphantly, "that I killed her."

...

Do you know how dangerous it is to make your own rituals?James wants to shout at Lily, at her shining eyes and her beautiful, beautiful lips. She might have died so easily. Do you know how many people have died, because they just tried something and failed and the ritual blew up in their face? Not even the most insane Death Eater would have tried what you tried.

But they're Gryffindors.

Being Gryffindor doesn't mean being insane, but sometimes- when on the wire, when pushed to the brink- it means taking risks that seem that way. It means gambling with your life, with your world, and never once looking to see the fall that's snapping at your heels.

James holds Lily tighter, and he loves her with everything he has inside of him.

...

In one world, Bellatrix Lestrange outlives her Lord's first death. She plans to take down his enemies while the rest of the Wizarding World celebrates, and destroys all the things her Lord gave her before she heads to the Longbottom's house.

In another world, she dies before she can do any of that.

She dies before she can destroy her portkeys.

...

Bellatrix had six things in her pockets: a little book that was splattered over with blood; an extra wand; three quills; and a small, innocuous button that Lily had almost left behind.

The button's the important thing.

When James runs tests on it, it proves to be a portkey.

There's only one reason for a Death Eater to have a portkey masquerading as an innocent button.

Lily watches Harry run one finger over the broad, reflective edge, before she asks James, "You can get it to work?"

"It's password locked," replies James. "It'll take me some time, but- yeah, I'll be able to get it to take us where it needs to." He knocks his hand on the stone of the wall. "That isn't the question."

"The question is whether we want to go there or not," Lily finishes. "If we do- both of us will have to be ready."

"Fighting fit," murmurs James, lips twitching. "None of this- still-recovering business."

Harry tries to chew on the button. Lily takes it out of his hands and tosses him in the air instead, catching him and rubbing her cheek against his soft hair, smiling at his giggling.

"This isn't our fight," she says, looking out into the sea, the horizon that she can't exactly identify because the sea is the same shade as the sky. "We could hide here, and stay silent, and nobody would ever ask for more from us."

"Would you be happy like that?" James asks curiously.

Lily glances over her shoulder at him. "Yes," she says. "I would be happy. I wouldn't be at peace, I think- but if I have you, and I have Harry- I can't imagine being unhappy."

He drops his head to her neck, nosing at the skin, one hand coming up to cup Harry's head. "They've killed our parents," says James. "They've killed our friends, and they've killed our family, and I can't sleep without dreaming of him,in our home, the absolute bastard-"

"James," Lily says, turning to face him. She looks up at him, through the curtain of her hair, and Lily is close enough to smell the apples on his breath, the clean salt, the dust and mud and blood. "It's going to be difficult."

"Our entire damn lives have been difficult," says James. "Let's not start being easy now."

...

(Lily's always been too sharp for the world. It's the kind of thing that's smudged by death, but it doesn't make it less true. Lily's too sharp, too quick, not the kind to throw herself into danger unnecessarily, not the kind to hesitate when she feels it necessary. In another world, she's remembered as a mother and a wife and a muggleborn.)

(In this one, she is called death,and it is a name she chose for herself.)

...

"You carved runesinto your skin?" James demands, flipping her hand over and dragging her closer to him. "Lily!"

"I had to tell the magic," she says, yanking her hand back. "In Gringotts- I didn't know how the bags or wand-boxes would look. So I did it. And that's how I knew the button was important, too- there was magic in it, hismagic. All cold and frightening and rotten."

Old druidic runes stand up on her skin, bright red, scarred.

Lily's sharpness isn't borne just of her tongue. Her sharpness comes from her knowledge: she's doing right. And so long as she does right, she won't regret her actions.

The pain is a price to pay. Nothing less.

"Sometimes you frighten me," whispers James, thumb brushing against the raised, knotted edge of one of the runes.

Lily leans into James and kisses him softly, lips barely moving.

She thinks of a twelve year old boy who refused to be frightened by a werewolf. She thinks of a sixteen year old boy who'd refused to be complicit in murder. She thinks of a twenty-one year old boy, who'd stood against the cruelest, darkest man in fifty years not once, not twice, not thrice- four times, each with nothing but a wand in his hand and love in his heart.

Lily is not the only one who's too sharp for the world.

This world isn't safe,she thinks, love blossoming through her limbs like warmth, like light. So we must make it safe.

Voldemort and his men brought war to Hogwarts' walls. They let a generation of children grow, none of whom knew peace, all of whom knew love. Lily can't think of anything more dangerous to the Death Eater's philosophy.

"We all do," she whispers back.

Lily's outlived her heroes. She'll outlive her enemies, too.

...

Two weeks later, they disguise Harry with three layers of charms and drop him off at a one-day daycare. Lily drapes Death Eater robes over their heads, fastens the mask to James head and lets him do the same to her.

They don't land in any dungeons.

Instead, they land in a field.

Lily feels James cast protective shields; she narrows her eyes and looks up instead, towards the hill that she can feel pushing at her mind. Leave,it whispers. Don't come near me.

And underneath it all, there's a slow pulse that reminds Lily of something achingly familiar.

"There's no active magic around," James mumbles, sweeping his wand in slow circles. "Nobody's cast in..."

"Forty years?" Lily looks over her shoulder to see him lift a brow at her.

"How'd you get that? The best spells only go till a decade."

She rolls her eyes at him. "I developed it before I went to Gringotts. How else d'you think I managed to get all the stuff I wanted? I wasn't sure how it'd look, and the goblins weren't exactly going to be helpful."

"So you createda spell."

"I'm good at that," Lily agrees, before tilting her head at the hill. "There's magic that side, though, and it's long-lasting. With notice-me-not charms all over it."

James' hand knocks into Lily's arm, but he doesn't say anything- instead, they head towards the hill. Lily keeps her grip on her wand easy, the better for the quick movements needed in both breaking and forming wards. She trusts in James' auror training to look out for physical dangers.

"Village's name-" James kicks at a moldy wooden sign, flipping it over. "Little Hangleton, apparently."

Lily shrugs. "Never heard of it."

They arrive at the hill. Lily can make out that the notice-me-not charms are tied into four trees, forming a proper rhombus at the base of the hill. She just brute-forces her way through it; notice-me-nots are fairly fragile charms, overall, relying more on going unnoticed- rather than on sheer power.

When the charms fall, Lily frowns.

There's a cabin there, in the middle of the clearing, but it-

"It looks like a hovel,"says James, flicking his wand to check for glamours. "What kind of-"

He cuts off when a pack of snakes emerge out of one of the windows, slithering directly at them. Lily tries to dispel them- she'd thought they were a good illusion- but no, the tracks they leave behind them in the grass tells Lily that they're actually real.

"He's a Parselmouth!" James exclaims, before he sends a piercing hex directly at the quickest-moving one. It explodes in a shower of guts and viscera. "That's why the snakes are real- they're probably forced to obey-"

Lily doesn't blink. "Ignis," she snaps, directing her wand in a circle that corrals the snakes away from them. "James, take the far end. Circle them properly."

James climbs the nearby tree and closes the circle from that height; the snakes die, leaving behind a large swath of burned grass and a horrible stench in the air. When they step closer to the hovel, she realizes: anothernotice-me-not, this one even more powerful- even more insidious- than the last.

Dark magic hums in the air, just enough to make her grit her teeth. And right under it, like a heartbeat: something Lily knows. Something that frightens her, just a little, because magic isn't supposed to be slow,it's supposed to eddy and dance and-

"Down!" grunts James, jumping off the branch and straight onto her back.

Lily spits out grass and rolls. "The hell was-" she trails off, seeing the silver axe spitting the tree that James had just climbed.

If he hadn't dived on top of her, Lily would be dead. She exhales roughly and shoves herself upright.

"He's not messing around," James mutters.

Lily narrows her eyes at the handle. "It's Norse," she says, then swears, fluently, at the message she can see in the runes carved into it. "Norse- Merlin, James, the name's-"

He barks out a warning- Lily spins to the side, feeling something rustle along her ribs and scoring a bloody line across it-

She pants, staring at the scorch marks impacting the tree trunk, one hand held to her side.

"What'd you say?" calls James.

"Wolf-killer," spits Lily, before she rises and lobs a ward-eating curse at the window the snakes came out of. She drops and turns to face James. She can feel her anger surge, swirling in her gut. Her wand's handle digs into her palm, hard and unyielding. "It's Thor Odinson's."

James stills. "You don't mean Deathlight?"

Thor Odinson had not been a god. He'd been a wizard, born millennia before the Founders- and he'd been a powerful one at that. For two centuries, he'd conquered and held Europe together, safe against the Persians and Macedonians.

He'd been a Dark Lord.

When his daughter was turned into a werewolf, Thor had slaughtered her and the entire village that allowed it to happen. Then he'd gone on a rampage against werewolves, and to do that, he'd forged a silver axe that- even as it split the tree behind Lily's head- was bathed in more blood than any other weapon in the history of the world.

The populations of werewolves in Scandinavia has never recovered.

There's a reason why they're a problem that England's faced, and not the rest of the Continent.

"Oh," says Lily, reaching forwards and yanking the axe out of the trunk, hefting it carefully- "I do."

...

They carve out a hole in the hut with the silver axe next to the window the snakes emerged out of.

Lily freezes when they enter, eyes narrowing on one of the corners, where there's an intricately carved wooden box. "It sounds-" she shakes her head like she wants to clear it, "-like you. Like your magic, James."

"Good or bad?"

Lily thinks for a moment. "Bad," she says finally. "Magic's not supposed to be slow, and that's what this is."

"My magic's slow?" James asks, contemplating the box.

"No. Something you had..." Lily clicks her tongue. "That's it. Not you,something you always had around you. Your cloak."

James' breath hitches. "But that wasn't ever dangerous." Dark.

"Maybe," says Lily. "But there's something darker than that, too, here. It's- difficult to explain."

"Be careful," James tells her.

Lily moves slowly towards the box. Her wand flicks through a complicated series of motions and the box starts to glow. Then Lily brings her wand in a decisive swish towards it- but nothing happens.

She frowns and slashes at it, quickly, but the yellow light that cuts across the wood doesn't have a single effect.

"It's not so bad, closer to it," Lily mumbles, before reaching for the thin latch holding the box closed.

"Lily-"

"It's warm," she says, before she opens it.

Inside, James can see dusty velvet and a gaudy, ugly ring. It doesn't look like much, but Lily- when he looks at her, she looks captivated. Her green eyes are all but glowing; she's not blinking.

"Lily," says James, a pit growing in his belly.

She doesn't answer.

Instead, Lily reaches for the ring.

James flicks it closed and holds his hands up when she whirls on him, outraged.

"You looked like it was drawing you in," he says slowly.

Lily snarls incoherently.

"I take that back," James mutters, backing away. "Clearly it's already-"

Lily moves, then, with devastating speed: she throws James into the far wall. If James' ribs hadn't been healed to perfect health, the impact would have probably been enough to have him down. But he's healed.

So James throws up sand, straight into the air, and rolls to the side, throwing a wide-range buzzing spell that'll keep Lily busy until he can subdue her.

It's a solid plan.

James is a better dueler than Lily. He's got more experience, he's quicker with his wand, and his spells are generally geared towards the explosive; Lily's slower, but more devastating when her plan snaps into place.

Except now she's faster, ten times faster than James has ever seen her-

First she dissipates the sand wordlessly. Then she volleys forwards, with a purple-flecked-black spell that James hasn't even heard of; he dodges instead of risking it with a shield. The spell hits the wooden wall behind his head in the place of his head.

James almost sighs in relief.

But Lily smiles.

Slow, coldly amused, terrifying. James's never seen her look so cold before. Lily's warm, always, even when she's angry; she shouts and screams and doesn't ever look like this,like she's got the world in the palm of her hand and is ready to catch it under the delicate point of an eyetooth-

"Lils," James pants, throwing up more harmless jinxes that she bats aside as if they're nothing more than minor inconveniences, "Lily- goddammit- stopfor a moment-"

He realizes, too late, what that purple spell was supposed to do, when vines snake around his arms and drag him back. One wrenches his wrist backwards until he's forced to give up the wand; James grits his teeth and strains against it.

"This isn't you," he tells her.

Lily's eyes are glassy, empty. Sheened over like someone's covered them with a lens.

"Darling," she coos, voice sickeningly sweet, "this isme. The most me. Without you around to drag me down, who knows what I'll become?"

"A killer," grunts James, even as the vines press him against the wall.

Lily laughs. She steps closer to him and rubs her wand down James' cheek, soft and caressing. He doesn't move; only glares at her, at her eyes, where it's clear that she isn't in her right mind.

"I'm already a killer," says Lily. "Or did you forget about Bella?"

She turns, moving towards the box that James had closed- turning her back on him for a critical moment.

Because James knows what he saw.

Her eyes- her lovely, sharp, green eyes- the part of her that James loves the most, the part that he can sketch with his own eyes closed, the part that he's been staring at so closely for the past moments- flickered red.

Bella,thinks James. Not Bellatrix. And red eyes.

There's only one person he knows with red eyes.

It makes a sick kind of sense. This is what they'd feared, why they'd worn Death Eater robes; Voldemort.

Voldemort, who James had blown up.

Voldemort, who killed James' parents, who tried to kill James' son, who even now is trying to kill his wife.

I am a Potter,thinks James, and his fury in that moment- it's been building, seething, over ragged wounds and festering helplessness and magical objects that hold the blood of thousands of innocents- but it boils over then, exactly, at the moment that he thinks his own familial name. I am James fucking Potter, andyou- I will not let you take anything else from me!

He flexes his wrist, and feels something cold and hard under it. James twists to see it. Thor's axe is right there, under his fingers, silver and shining. Uncertainty thrums through his chest for a brief moment; there's hundreds of stories through history, of the axe rejecting Thor, of the axe killing Thor's sons when they tried to take up his mantle, of the axe's bloody, terrible history.

Then he looks up to Lily, and sees her cradling the ring, close to her chest, as if it's Harry.

James sees red.

The vines around his wrists snap off, burned to ashes under the force of his rage, and before they can grow back, even as Lily spins around, eyes shining scarlet, wand rising to curse him to oblivion and back-

James raises the silver axe straight into the air.

For the first time in five thousand years, Thor Odinson's axe flares white.

Lightning splits the world apart around them.

...

Lightning is the symbol of death. It's the life-bringer, and the death-caller.

The first life in all the universe was born amid lightning and violence.

There are things in this world that will not leave it without the same violence.

These are all truths that Lily Potter knows.

...

Hundreds of miles away, Lord Voldemort stands in front of the Ministry of Magic, flanked by his army. His gut shivers, rolling with anticipation, thick and sweet in his mouth.

"Take it," says Voldemort, and the very building trembles.

...

Three floors away, trapped inside the building they're supposed to work inside, are the aurors. Rufus Scrimgeour snarls under his breath, but he's well and truly beat: there are five Death Eaters to every auror.

And once they take the office, they'll be able to find the rest of the force easily. There's trackers that map to each auror, on a magical map pinned up in the bullpen.

"Stand down," says the leader, a broad man in black robes and a white mask. "If you cooperate, there won't be anything to fear."

Rufus grits his teeth and feels a shiver wrack his body. Blasted dementors- useful for nothing so much as-

Fuck,he thinks, as You-Know-Who's army breaches the Ministry of Magic. Fuck this.

Britain hasn't once fallen to the Dark. Other countries have. Time and time again: France, Prussia, the city-states of Greece; some even have cycles of light and dark, alternating and equal in power. The Aztecs used almost solely dark magic. The fall of the Zhou dynasty in China had led to such a resurgence of dark power that it still hurts Rufus' teeth to go near a full three-fourths of the country. Some of the ziggurats in Mesopotamia had been built to worship muggle gods, but the majority were constructed to aid in ancient Akkadian rituals that harnessed the sun's power for longer-lasting, dark potions.

But Britain?

Brittany had almost fallen to Mordred, to Morgana; but it hadn't actually collapsed. Grindelwald's reluctance to cross the Channel hadn't been entirely because of Dumbledore: the very earth, the very soil and stone- it's steeped in light magic.

There's dark magic, of course, as always; light magic's mirror and opposite, but it's never held control of the land.

It's never governed magical Britain.

And now, there is one place that even has a chance to stand against it. If they don't want the elements themselves to recoil on the highest bastion of light's defilement- the Ministry is finished. It's Hogwarts, now, that is their last hope.

Hogwarts must not fall.

Rufus is an auror. He's a Slytherin, and he loves the Light like he loves his duty. He is a Slytherin: he understands sacrifice.

"Augustus," he says, standing. His people- good witches and wizards- shift, allow him an unimpeded line of sight to a man Rufus would like nothing more than to strangle bare-handed. Augustus Rookwood, a boy Rufus had roomed with for seven long years. "You could have been great."

"I am," says Augustus, lifting his hands. "I'm the lieutenant of the most powerful wizard in the world. And now you can join me, Rufus. There's no need for you to be limited by the Ministry's stupid, bureaucratic minutiae."

Rufus smiles and watches Augustus relax. One of his deputies- a muggleborn girl, with some of the quickest wandwork he'd ever seen- flinches, in the corner of his eye; then she straightens, and holds her wand at a sharp angle. Rufus can all but see the curse on the tip of her tongue.

Do or die,thinks Rufus, vaguely amused, viciously angry. That's what the muggles say, isn't it? This is that moment.

This is what he'll be remembered for.

He says, loudly, "If you'd ever looked beyond the tip of your nose, Gussy, you'd know that I've never wanted anything other than this Ministry's stupid bureaucratic minutiae."

He twitches his wand, one precise, clockwise circle, and brings the physical wards crashing down.

Only the Head Auror can do it. It's not told explicitly to them when they take their oaths, but Rufus knows the laws like he knows his magic. He knows his capabilities. And the wards are keyed to the Head Auror, not the Minister, not any Department Head. Though it hurts in him like a stab- he brings the wards down, and brings the Ministry down with it.

The floor rolls, as the ward stones holding the entire building together collapse.

"What have you done?" Augustus shouts, trying to find his balance.

Made your life harder.Rufus slips to one knee and rolls to the side, dodging the flashes of green light.

"Sir!" screams one of the rookies, not a foot from his face, crouched behind a desk, half-hysterical. "We're not getting out of this alive!"

"No," says Rufus grimly. "That, we are not."

He takes aim, accurate and precise, and fires. Two Death Eaters fall, dead, and Rufus shakes out his hand, his leg that still cramps on bad days. Rufus is not a Gryffindor; bravery is not bred in him.

But ambition is.

...

(Of all the people who fought in the war, against Voldemort and for him, Rufus Scrimgeour's tally is the highest.)

...

Frank holds Neville. Alice's hands are tight on the Prophet-there's a rip down the middle, sharp and thin, from her hands clenching against it. This morning's paper has just arrived. It has Malfoy sneering from the front page. It has Lestrange smiling- smiling!- beside him.

(The last thing they'd printed, the last thing that hadn't been Death Eater propaganda; Alice has it saved.

It's been the point of discussion of multiple Order meetings. The swirl of dark cloth as Thanatos apparates away- the picture had graced the front of multiple Prophetcovers ever since Bellatrix died. But that isn't what caught Alice's attention.

There's a girl, narrow and pointy, with colorless hair- she stands in the middle of the street and glares at the photographer. She wears muggle clothing; doesn't have a wand in sight, despite being Hogwarts-age. Alice is certain she's a muggle.

She's quoted, in small, cramped print, as if printed in a hurry: "This world isn't safe. And the only way to make it safer is to make sure it's safer ourselves.")

I am an auror,Alice thinks, before she rips the paper in her hands firmly, straight down the middle and into two. Whatever that means now.

This morning, at breakfast, a hundred Patronuses soared in from aurors that Alice had known, had loved, had protected. She's never seen a lovelier sight, how the world had turned shining and bright in a single moment that seemed to last forever.

And then one of them landed at the Head Table: a lion, grizzled, with one ear torn raggedly and a long scar down its flank.

"The Ministry has fallen," it had boomed in Rufus' rough voice, and through the shrieks of fear from the students, Alice had seen Minerva go pale, Albus sag in his chair, Filius flinch hard enough to rattle his top hat.

Alice is an auror, like Rufus, like James, like Frank.

Her wand is cold in her hand. She knows, in her heart, deep and true: it will see battle soon.

...

Lily is blind.

She can feel the earth under her knees, the hard, hot edges of the ring under one palm, the shattered pieces of the wooden box that had held it. Her ears are ringing. She's hiccuping, just a little. But the bright white lights are still spotting her vision, and Lily can't find it in herself to try to blink them away.

Her chest is too fragile to risk movement.

The world had felt so perfect. For long, breathless heartbeats, Lily's world had been made of light and right and weightless beauty. For weeks now, she's had to make decisions that leave her questioning, doubtful; she's spent weeks doing the best she can, and Lily's certain that it isn't good enough.

She wants to go back to that perfect world now, now that she knows how lovely it can be. Unquestioning adoration. Doubtless freedom.

Lily feels coldness on her cheeks and knows she's weeping, but she can't stop. She bends over, and there's a rawness in her throat but Lily can't hear her screams through the ringing in her ears; she can't move at all, she's so afraid of what will happen- if she hurts James, if he's goneor stuck in her brain besides all the memories Lily has of loving Harry and James and-

Oh-

In the life Lily had before magic, she'd attended church. She doesn't remember much of it; her mother had been the only person in their family who'd been religious, and Lily'd always been closer to her father anyhow.

But she thinks about the psalms now, the songs, the chants, those rhythms that had reverberated below her breastbone in a place that magic's never managed to touch.

She's so fucking afraid.

Then she feels James, his hands large and gentle, so gentle, along her spine. Lily cants into his touch blindly; she can't help it. Her muscles feel over-stretched and aching, her bones feel like they'll shatter against one wrong touch, and she feels violated like she's never felt before.

Steadily, even as her skin scrapes and aches, James gathers himself around her.

She can feel his chest rumbling soothing sounds, even as she can't hear them. It's James, of the two of them, who loves poetry- Lily's too impatient for it- but in the warmth and scent of James, surrounding her all over, Lily can hear the echoes of a prayer.

Slowly, achingly slowly, Lily blinks her eyes open.

Through the brilliance of the white spots, she sees James' dark hair. She'd know that shade anywhere; Lily reaches for it, feels the soft spikes that curl and rub against her skin. Then she turns to James and meets his eyes.

He relaxes.

"You looked different," he whispers, settling on the ground and bringing Lily closer to his chest."When- when hehad you. Your eyes were red."

Lily thinks about the warmth that suffused her limbs. She's never been under the Imperius before, but she can't imagine that there'll be much difference there; the knowledge of her own weakness burns in her chest like acid.

"I'm sorry," she says. Her voice rasps, thick in her throat."I'm- I- I hadn't realized what was happening. It was- it was so warm,and I've only ever felt dark magic as cold, and he was so persuasive-"

"Lils," says James, and she breaks off."I don't blame you."

"You should,"says Lily.

James shakes his head."Don't be stupid."

It's the fondness in his voice that makes the tears come again: exasperated, patient love. He doesn't flinch from Lily; he drags her closer, keeps her grounded, and Lily's never before trusted someone so implicitly. So wholly.

"I didn't hurt you?"

He huffs a laugh against her ear."Your vines sprained my wrist, I think," he says."But then- well, I didn't help matters any either."

Lily frowns."What didyou do? The ring-" she looks down, and sees it- it's warm, yes, but not in the pulsing, living manner it had been before. It's a smoking, burned-out shell instead; a blackened husk. Lily twists around to meet James' eyes, almost clocking him in the jaw with her skull."Jimmy!"

"Yeah." James nudges the metal ring with his toe."I think I overdid it?"

"What did you do?"

"I, ah, got angry." He looks sheepish, the idiot."At him,right? I mean- he's taken so fucking much- and I was just- well. Angry. And my accidental magic's always taken the form of fire, so your vines? They got burned."

"All of them?" Lily asks slowly. The amount of magic that would take- wandless magic is usually stronger than wand magic, but less directed; to match a wand's spell and completely undo it would likely take more than ten times the magic needed for a wand spell.

James shakes his head."Just my wrist. Half my arm. D'you know what was right there, though? That I could catch?"

Lily reaches for his arm and runs her fingers over the half of it that's pink and hairless, as if something's just plucked all of the hair out.

"Jimmy," she breathes, as she turns his hand over and sees the livid rune carved into his wrist.

"Thor's axe," says James softly.

Her heart stutters."You did what?"Lily demands, digging her nails into James' skin."I couldn't possible have heard you correctly- James- Thor's axe-"

"I wasn't exactly thinking."

"Oh, that's obvious." Lily lets go of him."It's called Deathlight, James, have you lost your mind?"

James looks like he's chewing on his cheek."Listen. I think- it's wrong."

"Four thousand years of history, and you're going to prove everyone wrong?" Lily snaps.

"Yeah," says James, starting to sound irritable."Because I've actually seen it work, Lily, and I think I know more about it than some stuffy witch translating pen marks that've been translated a dozen times before her?"

Lily bites her tongue, jaw working for a long moment. Then she sighs, waving her hand."Yes," she says crossly."Yes, alright, that's a fair point."

James nods."I don't think it's Dark."

"James-"

"Because-"he breaks off, lifting his brows questioningly, until she nods."Because you've all assumed it's death oflight, haven't you? That's what Deathlight means."

"...yes."

"Can you think of another meaning?" James asks quietly.

There's a spark in his eyes- and it's that thought, that light there, that gives her the answer.

"No," says Lily, jumping to her feet. She sways- the world sways- but Lily keeps to her feet and glares at James. "James.You can't possibly be serious!"

"Deathlight," says James, spreading his hands, revealing the rune, inflamed, livid, vivid: lightning, carved dark against his unmarked skin."Lightning, Lily."

Lily closes her eyes. She can see it, now that she knows what it is: a blinding, brilliant bolt of white light, searing down through the roof of the hut; it had shattered the wooden box that had held the ring, and completely destroyed the ring itself. There had been a high, electric whine in the air- that must have been what made her ears ring.

She breathes. Her chest aches, in the same spot that had hurt to kill Bellatrix. Lily's hands are empty, her wand lying on the ground. She closes them into fists and folds her arms over her chest instead.

"Where's the bloody axe now?"

"It listens to me," James tells her, rubbing one hand over the back of his neck self-consciously."I just had to will it- and it disappeared."

Lily grips the wooden chair tightly."And you can call it back?"

James holds out his hand and his brows furrow, before his arm jerks- Lily inhales sharply as the axe materializes out of thin air, as if James'd just conjured it. But when she approaches it, she can feel the promise of violence just leashed in its silver handle, in its shining blade; Lily can't feel the darkness that had permeated it.

Not that she trusts her instincts now.

"James," she whispers.

"It's dangerous?" asks James, wryly.

We are both too sharp for this world,Lily thinks, sadly, tracing James' cut lip, the shadow of a bruise ringing one temple. They've both had so much worse than this. When will we ever stop bleeding?

James' skin is glowing from the silver light of the axe. Lightning, Lily thinks; deathlight, lovely, dangerous.

"Yes," says Lily, reaching up to press a kiss to his lips."But that hardly matters now, does it?"

...

"You need to get your head on straight," James tells Lily. "Weneed to get our heads on straight. It isn't even noon- Harry can stay in the daycare'til evening. Let's go to Diagon."

"James," sighs Lily.

But James knows Lily; he knows how much it shakes her, to be doing the wrong thing. He knows how much it hurts her, to be doing the wrong thing and feel like she's doing the right. To someone who lives with certainties, to have them shaken- James knows well, how that feels.

(James lives with others, depends on those that he calls family to love him and support him.

Peter betrayed that.

There hasn't been a single night in the past three weeks that James hasn't woken up from a nightmare.)

"We'll have hot tea," he coaxes instead, reaching out and catching Lily's hand."Hot tea, with milk and honey. Not the watery stuff we've had for the past couple weeks."

Lily closes her eyes tightly, then she nods, once.

James apparates them straight to London.

...

They slip into the Leaky Cauldron quietly, and wait in silence until their tea arrives. Lily tries to soak the warmth of the cup into her bones, where she feels as if winter has sunk into it.

There's marrow there, Lily knows, in the hollows of her bones. It's where her body is born. Her blood- the vast majority of it- is made up of cells that last for only four months. Give her a year, and her blood will be formed anew thrice over. Right there, in the hollow, hallow shadows of her bones, there's ice and darkness alongside all the parts of her that aren't old enough to become anything.

James looks haggard, too. He's charmed his hair blonde, and Lily's hair's some halfway shade between red and black; they're both huddled in a small corner booth and curled over their cups silently, letting the steam catch on their face's skin.

Lily rubs her finger over the smooth wood of the tabletop.

There's no varnish. It's age that's worn it down, not polish. Lily wonders how many tears have soaked into the wood, how much beer and grief and joy.

"James," she whispers, reaching out one hand to his. She rests it on the table, upturned, waiting for him to press his palm back to hers."I'm so afraid."

She shouldn't be. Lily knows how to defeat death. She knows,down deep in her blood and bone. You defeat death by accepting it, and she has to, she hasto accept death before she can save James and Harry and-

"You know what we call insane?"

James' face is thinner than Lily's ever seen it. There's a gauntness to his face that makes Lily want to take him and kiss his pain out of his muscles, a pallid cast to his face that makes her viciously, terribly angry. His hair is blond and his eyes are dark and there's a spark in that darkness that reminds Lily of death and fear and brilliant, shining, lovely light.

Lightning.

"What?"

"Doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results." Lily clutches tighter at James' hand."How many times can we fight against himbefore we're defeated? How much- how much can we lose before we lose our-"

Suddenly, James smiles and Lily stops. The shadows darkening his face don't fade; they deepen. He looks angry, and regal, all at once, like the busts of Arthur and Gryffindor brought to life once more.

"We're Gryffindors," he says."And that doesn't mean being insane, maybe, but sometimes it means looking insane."

"James," she says quietly.

"Lily," he returns, eyes alit, silvered."Our family isn't dead. And so long as our son is alive, he won't stop coming after us. I'm not letting him have Harry."

"I'm af-" Lily freezes.

James tries to turn to see what she's looking at, but Lily tightens her grip on his hand until he stops. She knows she's lost what little color she had- her heart is pounding in her ears, loud, drowning out everything else.

"Fuck," she breathes.

"Lils-"

"Don't move,"Lily hisses, reaching for her wand and sliding it off the table silently."Don't call anyone's attention- we can't-"

"Then tell me what's going on!"

"The day's paper just came," she whispers, eyes flicking over the pub.

James frowns."This late?"

Lily knows her hands are shaking. They're too late-

"It wasn't there when we came in. I thought it was because we weren't here in the morning, that they'd run out- but they just delivered it." She meets James' eyes, and shivers convulsively."Malfoy's on the front cover."

"Lily-" he twists around, sees the front page that Lily's been seeing, and turns back to her, dead-white."We have to get out of here."

"We have to find out what's happening." She straightens and swallows, hard."Three weeks was too long. If he has control of our government- well, Jesus, James, we have to move faster. Find out what that bloody artifact was in Little Hangleton, see how to kill a man who's better with his wand than both of us combined-"

"-but first, we need to see what's going on."

"Yes." Lily tilts her head and appraises him closely."Go to Harry. Take him home. You're shaking, Jimmy."

James' eyes narrow."You're not much better off."

"I'm not the one who called down lightning this morning," says Lily."You know that only covens used to do that, right? Weather witchery always takes covens, because it's so exhausting. And you just- did it. By yourself."

"Thor helped," he says dryly.

Lily sighs."That isn't the point."

"I'm a pureblood."

"And you're faster than me with your wand," agrees Lily."Listen- you levitate this cup, and I'll let you go, Jimmy. Go on."

James closes his eyes."Lily."

But his hands don't move towards his wand.

"Apparate home," she says gently."Spend time with Harry. Rest. I'll come back with the news."

"The last time I let you come to Diagon alone, you fought-" he drops his voice, so he's mouthing the last bit:"-and killed Bellatrix Lestrange."

Lily feels sick, and free, and exhausted like she's never felt before. Her hand shakes, but her grip is sure. Give her a target, and she'll blow out the bullseye without pause.

"I survived," she says, before pushing her teacup back and rising to her feet."And it won't get that far again. The door's that way, Jimmy." She tilts her head towards the door leading out to muggle London, and after a long moment- when James nods in one abrupt, irritable jerk of his head- Lily moves towards the door that leads further into Diagon.

In a small corner, she disillusions herself, then spends a dozen minutes transfiguring and charming her clothes into something better fitting her persona. Dark pants, for freedom of movement; a similarly dark form-fitting tunic that splits apart at the hips for the same purpose; boots with sensible soles and a cloak that she charms with a nifty spell that keeps it from tangling with her limbs. Her hair's already thick and tangled, so she only brushes it and

Then, still disillusioned, Lily steps out.

The paperboy that delivers the Prophetto the rest of Diagon steps out of Jigger's Apothecary, and Lily presses her wand to the soft skin of his neck.

"Step into the alley," she breathes.

He goes rigid. But he does; it's shadowed and empty, and Lily cancels the disillusionment at the same time as she shoves him away from her. When he turns back, she's haloed by the brightness of the sun outside of the alley, and cloaked in darkness otherwise.

"Who're you, then?" he demands.

Lily flicks her wand to the side. The boy flinches when the rock explodes beside his head- he scrambles all the way to the other side of the alley- before he sees what Lily'd done.

A silver theta, crossed through the middle with a jagged lightning bolt.

"Thanatos," he whispers.

"Yes," says Lily.

"You killed Lestrange."

"Not enough of them, clearly." Lily eyes him."I need help."

The boy's fingers dig into the dust. Slowly, he levers himself upright. He's a slender person; tall and lean, and the result makes him look like he's been stretched a little, pulled too thin like taffy. His hair's a colorless sort, all washed-out, but it's dyed at the tips with purple and electric blue. They make his eyes- a very pale green- stand out.

"I'm not helping you hurt anyone," he says.

"There was a boy before you," Lily says slowly."The Diagon Alley Runner, they called him. It worked out because the shops all pitched in on his coin, and none of them needed to pay for a Prophetsubscription. His name was..."

The boy swallows.

"Brian," says Lily."That was his name. What happened to him?"

The boy shakes his head."I don't- I don't know anyone by that name."

Lily feels anger balloon in her chest. She'd known Brian, not well, perhaps, but- they'd been friends, of a sort, and he'd always had a smile that lit up Diagon even brighter than it was. He'd been a muggleborn. For three years, Brian had run around Diagon, delivering papers with cheerful abandon, and the day there was a headline screaming Ministry of Magic in Shamblesand a Malfoy and Lestrange in the papers, he was gone.

A fucking muggleborn.

"You started working this morning," she whispers, voice shaking, her wand untrembling."Didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Get up," snarls Lily, jabbing her wand at him, barely stopping herself from throwing sparks in his eyes."Get up.Where's your backlog of papers?"

"There's-" he pauses, thinking, before flinching again as Lily's wand starts spitting sparks again."-a warehouse? We keep old papers there."

"Take me there."

"The past month," she says when they arrive, crisply, coldly, like wind-whittled ice."All of the papers, one from each day. Bring them out to me."

He does. Lily follows him where he goes, and when he's reached this morning's- he pauses.

His hands tighten on the last packet, knuckles blanching, before he says, quietly,"My mam's in the Ministry."

Lily lifts her wand, but he continues talking without turning.

"My dad's on the run," he says, almost soundlessly, and Lily lets her wand lower just a little."The Prophetdoesn't know that, though. They know I'm a halfblood, and forget all'bout the other half." He turns around, suddenly, and his eyes are bright, like a glowing, eerie lamp."They'd kill him if they get a chance."

"I-"

He shoves the bundle at her and steps away."You come near me again and I'll go to the aurors."

"They'll kill him, but you won't help me?" demands Lily.

"My mam'sin the Ministry," he says again, firmly, loudly.

Oh,thinks Lily, watching his long, ungainly limbs. Oh, you poor boy.

"Do you need help?"

He clenches his jaw."No."

"There's no shame in it if-"

"Thanatos, right?" he asks."I don't need help from someone called death. This ain't my fight."

"They have your fatherrunning away," Lily exclaims. "They have your mother working besides the men hunting him down, and-"

How many times has she heard that- this isn't my fight, this isn't my battle, if I close my eyes I won't have to see my friends and family die-

"Not your fight?" she demands."Not your fight? This isyour fight, like nothing else."

"'m a halfblood."

Lily scoffs. Rage thrums in her breast like a second heartbeat, hot and fierce.

"Voldemort will come for the mudbloods first, yes," she says."He'll go for the muggles, too. Then he'll attack anyone who dared to stand against him, and then he'll kill everyone who didn't kneel to him- but do you know what he'll do after that?"

The boy stares at her.

"He won't hesitate to kill you," Lily tells him."And there won't be a single person in this world who'll stand up for you then, because all that will be left are the cowards."

He turns away, then back to her- and he's smiling, humorlessly, like a skull stripped of skin."You were a Gryffindor," he says, as if it's a grand joke."Weren't you?"

"Yes," says Lily cautiously.

"Lady," says the boy, leaning forwards, "coward ain't the worst insult you can call someone."

Lily hisses out through her teeth before she can stop herself.

"Call it what you want," he says, stepping away."You come after me again, and I'll show you how quick I can be with my wand."

"I killed Bellatrix Lestrange," Lily calls after him."You think you're faster than her?"

He doesn't turn around, though he stops moving."Doesn't take speed to kill people. Just luck." Then his shoulders drop just a little."Lady Thanatos," he says, quietly, head arching to meet Lily's eyes. He looks older, then- exhausted, worn, but steady. The bright tips of his hair catch the late afternoon sunlight."I won't leave this place. But that- well, I mean to say- it doesn't mean I don't want my father back."

"I don't understand."

His lips tip up."Give'em hell," he says, and steps out of the door.

Lily watches him leave- I don't know your name,she thinks, a quizzical sort of sadness in her chest, before sheapparates away. There's no time for thoughts on people who don't care about the future of their world in her life, not now. There's far more important things that she has to face.

...

Lily spreads the papers on the damp floor of the cave carefully.

They take alternating papers and sort through the articles as quickly as they can. After this, they need to research the ring; James isn't sure how, exactly, Lily plans to do that- but she's better than him at the esoteric magics, and he's not shy about admitting it. But he can manage this easily enough. It's just skimming over cruel words that make his gorge rise; it's watching Harry out of the corner of his eye and thanking everything he knows that his son is safe, so near to him.

Then James feels his heart stutter to a stop."Lily," he says, strangled.

She jerks her head up.

He tosses the paper over to her.

Lily's eyes narrow as she skims the page. James can identify the exact moment that she reaches the pertinent article- her face drains of all color. He thinks her hands are shaking.

"James," she whispers, not looking away from it.

He closes his eyes. James knows what it says; it's imprinted itself on the insides of his eyeballs.

Death Eater Captured!

Early this morning, the auror department arrested Sirius Black (Figure 11) on charges of high treason, murder, and aiding and abetting the terrorist organization known as the Death Eaters. According to Head Auror Scrimgeour, there is "incontrovertible evidence" of Black's crimes.
"Due to extenuating circumstances," said Scrimgeour,"Black has been directly transported to Azkaban, where he will remain in the maximum security cells."

Scrimgeour went on to stress that this arrest is a triumph for the department. The aurors are making progress in derailing the terrorist activities of the Death Eaters, and witches and wizards have no need to fear for their safety.

However, until his high-profile arrest, Black had been well on his way to a distinguished career in the auror department. These are likely the extenuating circumstances that Auror Scrimgeour spoke of: the auror department is mandated by law to keep citizens accused of high treason in the Ministry of Magic's cells for a period of 72 hours under which the accused can either prove their innocence or be remanded to Azkaban for a longer trial period. To eliminate security concerns arising from Black's intimate knowledge of auror protocols, he was taken to Azkaban directly, where he is now under the purview of dementors.

Azkabanis such a dark and terrifying word, the very spikes of the letters piercing through James' skin, regret dripping across the cave floor under him, soaking into the stone.

"Jimmy," says Lily, again, and when he looks up at her, there are tears in her eyes.

"We have to get him," says James, in a voice he scarcely recognizes.

Lily swallows."Of course."

"Bloody-" he grinds his fist into his thigh and forces himself to still. Harry's there, right next to Lily, playing idly with the seaweed net that Lily'd woven a few weeks ago. Instead, he slumps back."We should've thought about it."

"We didn't tell anyone," Lily agrees."They all thought Sirius was our Secret-Keeper." She exhales, slowly."If I get my hands on Peter-" she shakes her head."He'll be lucky to die."

James doesn't move his head.

He doesn't know what he'll do, if Peter ever shows up. If Peter is standing in front of Lily, she'll curse him until his skin is inside out, he knows; but if Peter was standing in front of James- James doesn't know how he'll raise his wand. James doesn't know how he'll cast spells at a man he's known for nearly half of his life. James doesn't know if he can look into Peter's eyes and muster the hate.

He knowsPeter, that's the problem. He loves Peter, deep as he's ever loved Sirius or Remus- they're his brothers. They're his brothers, and that's the end of the story.

Sirius would never have raised his wand to Regulus, no matter how much they hated each other.

James doesn't know how he could ever hope to do any different to Peter.

(Anger is different from hatred,James thinks, even as he doesn't look at Lily where she's weeping silently. He is angry at Peter, perhaps will be for the rest of his life- but he doesn't think he'll ever be able to hate the man. A h, Peter, I don't know where we went wrong.)

Then he reaches for Lily's hands and draws her to her feet.

"We sleep tonight," he says, curling his hands over her cheeks, cradling that lovely, loving face in his palms."We rest. And as soon as we can, we'll take him from there."

"Break into Azkaban?" asks Lily, disbelieving."There's things that even we can't do."

"It's... difficult," agrees James."But do you know of anyone else who's survived Voldemort more than thrice? Lily- we don't have a choice. Sirius isn't- we can't- we have to save him. We haveto."

Lily's hands reach up to clutch at his forearms."Jimmy," she whispers.

James kisses her. Long and slow. She tastes like honey, like summer; amidst the biting wind outside, James can feel home in her warmth.

"We haveto," he whispers into her ear, and watches Lily slowly rock forwards, press her face into his chest.

Then Lily pulls away. She steps towards Harry and swoops him up, pecking at his forehead. Slowly, she turns back to James.

"Harry can't stay with us if we do," she says."It'll take too long- what, two days? Three?- we'll need to keep him with someone safe, then."

James leans against the side of the cave. The rough stone is cold against his shirt. He thinks on it- Remus is in hiding with the werewolves; Sirius is in prison; Peter's betrayed them. Of Lily's friends: Marlene is dead, Mary left for foreign shores as soon as she graduated, and hasn't been seen since. There isn't anyone else that they can trust with Harry.

"Who, though?" he asks.

Lily traces Harry's hair, then conjures a glittery phoenix out of her wand that flies around his head. He looks enchanted by it, and Lily rises to her feet slowly, looking like her limbs are aching, like she's more than thrice her actual age.

"I know someone," she says, hesitantly.

James frowns at her. Lily looks up at him, glass-green eyes like all those shattered, shining pieces he's seen out of pubs, drinking glasses and bottles crushed under his heel in the gutter. The phoenix soars above them, glittering golden and scarlet as it spirals upwards to the ceiling.

"You're not going to like it," says Lily.

The phoenix explodes.

"Do you trust me?"

Red sparks fall on their skin, catch on Harry's dark hair, shine from the depths of Lily's thick hair. She looks like a siren, like an ancient priestess. She looks like his wife.

"Always," says James."Forever."

...

In one world, Petunia Dursley opens the door on a cold November morning to a letter that explained of her sister's death.

In one world, it was accompanied by a small, scarred boy. In another, it wasn't.

...

"May I come in?" Lily asks quietly.

Petunia glares at her."No," she snaps."I don't want you here."

"Petu-"

"You've the nerve to come here after what you did?" Petunia demands, voice growing shriller."You try to- to- to infectmy son with your witchiness, and now you come here? Get out, I say! Out!"

"I'm not in yet," says Lily levelly. Petunia flushes angrily, but Lily only lifts her chin to meet her anger."'Tuney, I've no idea what magic you're speaking of. I haven't spoken to you in-"

In nearly a year.

Since their parents died.

"-a while," finishes Lily lamely.

Petunia flushes as if she knows what Lily's thinking of. Her chin goes up, in a move that Lily recognizes as her own, as a thing that comes directly from their father- but then she steps aside from the door, eyes sweeping over the rest of the street.

"Well, come in then," she says impatiently."No use dawdling on the street."

"It's a lovely neighborhood," says Lily, pressing her hands together to keep from wringing them. She feels distinctly helpless, in this white kitchen and its smooth linoleum tiles and polished appliances; Lily's world is made of wood and stone and blood, and this modernity is as far as one can come from that."Very expensive."

"Vernon and I moved in when I realized I was pregnant," says Petunia, before turning and arching a disapproving brow."There's a primary school right down the street- the best in the county. And there's a lot of families with children around Dudley's age. Where are you living now, Lily? Some mansion, like your husband spent all of my wedding dinner expounding on owning?"

Lily thinks of the chilly, damp cave that she and James have been living in for the past month, and can't resist a wry smile."No," she says."Definitely nothing like that."

"So your husband's a liar as well as an imbecile."

"'Tuney-"

"Don'tcall me that," flares Petunia, before smoothing her hands over her skirt."No, Lily, you tell me how fair it was of him to spend our wedding dinner- the wedding that Vernon paid for out of his own pocket!- in homage to himself and his- his stupidfriends, and all the money that his father and father's father had passed down to him! As if Vernon hasn't been working himself to the bone for his entire life! As if being given things is better than working for them! And then his friend- yourfriend, Lily- had the gall to call Vernon a leech!"

"I'm sorry," says Lily quietly.

Petunia eyes her. She breathes deep and lets the angry flush fade from her cheeks. "Why are you here?"

"Because- well, you know of the war, don't you?"

"The war that killed our parents."

"Yes," says Lily."Well- the leader of the terrorist group- he came for us. For me and James. A month ago."

There's a long silence. If Lily'd expected Petunia to gasp or ask after her health, Lily would've been sorely disappointed. But their relationship had soured long before such expectations could have arisen.

"Clearly you're alright," says Petunia.

Lily inclines her head."It was close, though."

"Lily-"

"One of James' friends betrayed us. That's how he knew where to come."

"The one with black hair?" asks Petunia, lips twisting.

"The- the short one," replies Lily."And he framed Sirius. Which is why I'm here, actually." She firms her shoulders. Don't flinch now, Lily."I need your help."

Petunia's eyes narrow suspiciously."Help?"

"It'll take three days- at least- to rescue Sirius. We can't have Harry with us then. It'll be so dangerous,'Tun- Petunia. Dueling, spells being thrown all over- he needs to be kept somewhere safe."

Petunia doesn't answer for a long minute. Then she whirls around and strides into the living room, Lily chasing on her heels, where she scoops up a chubby little boy with her stick-straight hair; she whispers into his ear and juggles him through a tiny tantrum before setting him down once more.

"I told you we don't hold with your- kindin our house," she announces coldly."You haven't respected that ever before, so why would you do so now?"

It sounds like a rhetorical question, but Lily answers anyway.

"I've stayed away since you sent that letter last year," she says."Petunia- I haven't sent anything, I haven't spokento you in-"

"-you sent a letter!" exclaims Petunia."It was just there, under my milk one morning, and you had it magicked to follow me wherever I went! Don't deny it, I know what your magic looks like! It spat glitter all over me when I tried to ignore it!" She sweeps a hand over her collarbone, shaking."It was terrifying."

"And I'm sorry for that," says Lily, before stepping forwards and taking Petunia's narrow palm in her own."But I didn't send that letter. Did you read it?"

"No." Petunia hesitates."I burned it."

Lily snorts, imagining the glittery letter and Petunia's desperate attempts to burn it before it could be seen by her neighbors. There's only one person who would have sent that kind of a letter, though. In fact, there's only one person who would even know to send it to Petunia.

"Then it was probably Dumbledore," she says."He probably sent it to you to say- well- that I was dead."

Petunia goes white."What?"

"I told you that the leader of the terrorist group came for me and James," says Lily."We survived, but- it was so close, Petunia. James was hurt so badly. And I had to heal him, I had to care for Harry, I had to make sure nobody else was following us- the safest thing was to let everyone think we were dead."

"Have you lost your mind?" Petunia demands loudly.

Her eyes are their mother's eyes. Blue-grey, like the froth of an ocean's waves. Lily fights not to recoil at the brightness in them; at the fear, and shock, all melding into something that looks a lot like anger. Of all the people she's known, Lily's lost the most: her mother, her father, everyone she was close to in Hogwarts. James and his friends don't understand- they've been risking their lives for so long, they've forgotten how it feels to not throw themselves into danger at the first provocation.

It's been so long since she's had someone look at her with rage for risking her life, rather than pride.

"No," she murmurs.

Petunia shakes her head."You've a son," she hisses."How selfish can you be, Lily? You're still fighting, after everything you've lost? Why?"

"Because I can't run," replies Lily, wearily."He'll follow us wherever we go."

And god,isn't that frightening? There's nowhere in this world that will keep Lily's son safe from Voldemort. If they flee to France, further- dark magic is strong there, stronger by far than Britain, and even worse: no nation in the world will harbor refugees fleeing from a Dark Lord. If the government finds out that Lily's family might begin a war in their lands, they won't hesitate to deport them.

The best defense for Harry is for Voldemort to think he's dead.

"Will you help me?" she asks instead of explaining further, turning to meet Petunia's gaze."I know how horrible we were to each other, Petunia. I know- I know our history. But a terrible mistake's been made, and an innocent man is in prison, suffering things he should never have to, and the only people who can save him are me and my husband. Will you help me?"

Petunia closes her eyes. She wavers, thin and tall, like the girl from Diagon; like the boy Lily'd met this morning.

Then she opens them.

"This prison," she says, licking her lips,"is it- that one- Azkaban? The one with the... dementors?"

Lily pauses. Petunia couldn't have ever heard that name more than twice; Lily's shied away from discussing it in front of their parents. The only person in Lily's life who would have ever spoken of such things is Severus, and she hasn't spoken to him in nearly seven years.

She thinks of Petunia, small, smart, shoved out of the limelight by Lily; Lily'd looked like their mother's youngest sister reborn, a woman who'd died from an unlucky riptide almost before she could walk, and their mother had always been more loving of Lily, kinder to her, than ever to Petunia. Lily thinks of how close they'd been, despite all those little things that must have hurt Petunia. She thinks of their childhood, and all those things that had made Lily stand out in a world that had only ever punished Petunia for attempting the same.

She thinks of Petunia trying to grasp those slippery, shining syllables that encompass magic, quietly, desperately, slowly turning to hate to keep jealousy at bay.

"Yes," says Lily, careful to keep her voice unpitying.

Petunia's jaw works, slowly, like she's testing out the words and biting them back even before they can reach her lips.

She doesn't look at Lily- her eyes are focused on her son, and there's some conflict raging in them- and after a long, breathless pause, she says, deathly quiet,"Very well."

"What?" Lily can't help asking.

"I said very well," says Petunia, lifting her eyes to meet Lily's. She doesn't look away now. It's bravery, Lily thinks; not a kind that anyone else would have recognized, but real, extant, and as hard as anything Lily's ever done."Bring your son here."

"Thank you," says Lily softly.

Petunia's eyes harden."Nobody deserves to be locked in a place with soul-eaters." She swallows."I never liked that boy- but- Lord, Lily, there's things that I wouldn't ever wish on a person."

The last time she met Sirius, he'd charmed Petunia's hat into a frog and cursed Vernon to have a raincloud following him over all of their honeymoon.

Lily steps forwards and before she can overthink it, she hugs Petunia.

But Petunia shoves her away.

When Lily looks up at her, hurt, Petunia's trembling, white-faced with her anger."Don't you dare act like we're on equal terms," she bites out."This is- this is what a normal family does, when asked to, when given this choice- but that doesn't mean that I've forgiven you of anything. You're a selfish, privileged little girl who's never had to grow up with the fears everyone else has. So send your son to me." She seems to coil in on herself, abruptly embittered and sour as an unripe lemon."Maybe I can teach him to be kind."

"Why do you hateme?" cries Lily, throwing up her arms.

Every time she thinks they've bridged something- every time she even hopes- Petunia changes the game, she steps back, she goes cold and cruel as Severus fucking Snape. Lily hates it.

"Oh, as if you've not given me enough excuses," sneers Petunia.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Where were you when I buried our parents?" shouts Petunia, advancing on Lily, using her height to crowd her backwards."I sent you letter after letter, Lily, and you didn't come! I delayed for a fortnightbefore I realized you weren't coming!" There are tears in her eyes, those terrible eyes that look like their mother's."I neededyou," she whispers."For the only time in my life, I needed my sister there for me, and you weren't there. You couldn't even give me the courtesy of an answer."

Oh,thinks Lily, and her heart twists in her chest like someone's taken it and squeezed it. Oh,'Tuney, I never meant this.

"I did send you one," says Lily quietly.

Petunia's eyes flash."One. And it ignored everything about the funeral- it was like you hadn't even heard-"

"I'd heard."

"Then why?"

"Because they went after our parents because of me," says Lily."You know that. They killed our parents and they would've killed you, too, if they could've gotten their hands on you. And I had to make sure that wouldn't happen."

Petunia sits down, hard, on the armchair behind her."That was a possibility?"

"Petunia." Lily stares at her."It's a war.Of course it was a possibility. These people- they're such- I tried to hide it from all of you. The ugliness of magic. But it's- there's people there who hate people like me, who hate people who aren't born into magical families. They've gained power. Too much."

"And you couldn't tell me that, of course," says Petunia. She's trying for her usual disdain, but she looks utterly unnerved; her voice wobbles just enough for Lily to try to soften hers."You couldn't come here, and explain things to me."

"I spent the weeks after they died developing a ritual," Lily says, before kneeling and taking one of Dudley's red colored blocks, running her fingers over the smooth wood."I made sure they couldn't track you through my blood."

Petunia licks her lips."How?"

She hesitates. "By cleaving myself from the name Evans." Petunia's head snaps up, and Lily clarifies, sadly:"I'm no longer Lily Evans,'Tuney. Not Lily Evans Potter either. I'm Lily Potter."

If she and James ever separate, then Lily won't be anything. Just Lily, red-haired, bright-eyed, quick-tongued Lily. She'll have her wand and her mind and her anger, and not a single thing more.

It isn't a sacrifice she regrets.

Lily watches Petunia for a long minute, then she reaches over and pats Dudley on his head- and then she rises to her feet. It aches in her bones. But Harry will be safe here, Lily knows, between wide windows and clean sofas and soft carpets. So she nods to Petunia and heads towards the door.

"Lily," calls Petunia, and she stills."That letter- those flowers you kept prattling about- was that a code?"

"Yes," says Lily.

"Whose?"

"Whose do you think?"

(Their mother's. Long, sunny afternoons filled with their mother showing them pictures of coastal blossoms and describing another language. They'd eaten oat cookies that tasted like salt and sand, and their mother had whispered long, liquid syllables of a language that their father hated- he'd never learned Welsh, had even forbidden it from their household, and their mother had accepted that to his face.

When he napped, though, she took her girls out to the back and gave them cookies she'd learned from her mother, and taught them, slowly, patiently, two languages: one of her hometown, and another of flowers.

The last time she'd done so had been before Lily went to Hogwarts.)

"You remember that?" asks Petunia.

"I've never forgotten," says Lily.

She turns, and Petunia's closer to her than she'd thought- close enough to touch, though neither of them does.

"I've never forgotten," Lily murmurs, and Petunia nods, once, face pale and narrow in the kitchen sunlight- she's not pretty like Lily, not with life bursting out of her, but rather like a piece of cut glass- hard, harsh, tempered and forged and shining. They've hated each other for so long. For too long. "I'm sorry for letting you think otherwise."

"As," says Petunia, slowly, lifting her chin, eyes glittering, the last Evans in all the world,"am I."

...

In one world, Petunia welcomes a boy into her home in November.

In another, she welcomes the same boy into her home in December.

(In one world, Petunia welcomes a boy into her home. In another, she welcomes him into her heart.)

...

They're ready: James- as an auror- has patrolled Azkaban; he knows the way its security works. One day to map the terrain and decide their route, Lily thinks, and to test the wards from the island's edges, where the wards are faltering, and then- then, they can break into it.

Lily hefts her bags higher onto her back, and sees something stick to the rough cloth- she peels it off, revealing a damp, smeared piece of the Prophetthat she'd clipped out and forgotten in the rush to save Sirius.

Irene is there, written into immortality on one of the papers: defiant, angry, vicious. This world isn't safe. And the only way to make it safer is to make sure it's safer ourselves.Lily reads the words, traces over them, and she feels the sadness in her chest battle with pride, feels the sadness surrender.

I said this.Her fingers are stained black with ink. I touched another's life, and she remembered that.

There had been blood on Lily's hands that day. She'd touched Irene's shirt, and she'd stained it red, and Irene hadn't flinched away.Just a few days earlier, Lily'd hated her sister. This morning, she'd handed her son over to him, and shed only shed a few tears in the process. Days before that, Lily met a boy, years older than Irene, a coward and a prideful one at that- a boy who'd been swallowedby the war far earlier than Irene ever had been; a boy who hadn't raised a single wand to the dark side, who refused to do so.

Courage, dear heart.It's an old saying. Lily remembers the words, surging up from the black waters of her childhood; reading books on her kitchen counter, amidst the smell of egg and pungent thyme, sunlight leavening her hair and warming her shoulders. There is something brighter than this.

She hadn't known courage then. She hadn't known all the forms courage could take, hadn't even dreamt them.

Now, she looksup at James, as he enters the cave, ready to do the impossible, and the tears in her eyes fall when she sees the familiar, blocky edges of his hair.

"Lils?" asks James, startled.

She shakes her head, not trusting her voice. Lily swallows, then reaches up and presses her fingers to his narrow, sharp jaw, spreading shadowy ink over his stubble.

"Let's give'em hell," she whispers.

...

They land on a stony shore.

James transfigures a boat out of the smooth rock, and Lily charms it to head towards Azkaban. Once at the edge of the wards, Lily runs the quick tests, wand flashing over the choppy waters with bursts of brilliant light.

"They'll allow you in," she says finally."With verification."

"Then it isn't an issue."

"James,"says Lily."You don't have your wand, have you forgotten that?"

He narrows his eyes back at her."Bobby Crick had a memory for shit."

"Azkaban's warden?"

James nods easily."Kept forgetting his wand inside the sealed room. So Scrimgeour changed the wards, from wands to magic. And there's no way they'll have stricken me from the stones, not with the whole restructuring of the Ministry. If they've even figured it out in the first place."

"If you're wrong, Jimmy," warns Lily.

But this is James at his worst- or his best, because Merlin knows his luck's held out thus far- because his friend is in danger, and half the reason his friend's in danger is because of James, so there won't be any reasoning with him on safety.

"I'm not," he says firmly, and that's that.

...

The next morning, they return. And James' luck holds: they enter the wards without any problems. Lily keeps herself tucked in the shadows of her cloak, motionless, as they move further towards the dark fortress.

It's like a parody of heading to Hogwarts. Here, the boat is cold, the waves are rough and chilling, the fortress is lit by sparse torches that aren't helpful even in the light of day.

"Come on, love," murmurs James, as they dock. His eyes- so bright, always- are shining with something too hot to call excitement. Bloodlust, perhaps. This is what the Britons of old had faced against Viking raiders, thinks Lily. This is what the Romans had faced, when battling the druids. Lily's so glad she's not on the opposite side. "Ready?"

Lily lifts her wand and tilts her head at him."Always," she returns.

...

The bottom levels of Azkaban are devoid of dementors.

It's where petty criminals are kept, as well as those who are still waiting for their trials. The dementors' miasma permeates even this floor, despite them not being allowed here, and it's that which holds the prisoners locked inside, not the guards, who're just three aurors, all of them who spend their miserable shifts in the guardsroom that's really nothing more than a glorified dungeon.

James walks back into the prison.

He doesn't shiver; he's well past such easy, uncomplicated motions. Even in the dank, dark blackness, the world feels hot and bright and sharp enough to slice. Slowly, silently, James heads towards the guardroom.

Years and years ago, the first time he watched Remus transform- the world had been so bright that night, the moon silvering everything in sight; James' flank had been ruined, a mess of shredded blood and bone, to the point that he hadn't been able to walk- James had watched the sky lighten, had watched Remus' shame, his horror, and he hadn't repented for any of it. He hadn't been able to breathe without choking on the blood. For weeks after, his teeth were stained red, the insides of his cheeks raw from chewing on it to keep from screaming.

He can't imagine regretting that.

In this war, James has taken lives, saved lives, blown up buildings and escaped madmen. His hands are stained a red bright as Lily's hair, as Harry's mouth, as Remus' tired eyes and Sirius' jackets and Peter's delicate, carefully tended roses.

He doesn't regret it.

James slashes his wand down, once, words surging over his tongue, slippery and harsh, and the door to the guardroom explodes as if it's never existed in the first place.

Spellfire erupts from his wand, scalding and brilliant. The three aurors within don't stand a chance: James is the best in the division, in the Order, and he's got rage and surprise both on his side.A breath later, Lily sweeps in after him. She waves her wand and sinks into the glittering strings that represent wards. She's searching for Sirius, whose magic she can probably feel with those runes she's carved into her skin.

Suddenly, Lily hisses out through her teeth, like she's been slapped across the face, and her fingers move even faster, flicking the strings with a fervor that makes James' spine itch. Then she looks at him.

Her eyes are dark.

Black, like the sea around them.

James lifts his wand immediately. "Lily."

"It's me, Jimmy," she says, but it's strained, as if coming from a great distance or after a great feat. It does nothing to reassure him."It's me. But- there's a thing that I can do with these wards- it's like a loophole. Stupid of them. It'll take- give me a minute."

"We don't have much time."

"I know,"she snaps, but her eyes are reflecting the light of her wards, unearthly and ugly; James doesn't care what she says, he wants to reach forwards and catch her pale, lovely hands, drag her to him, ground her to the earth with the weight of him. But he trusts Lily, too, would trust her even if she gives him a sword and asks him to gut himself, would trust her so long as he knows her to be in her own mind. So he stays silent.

When she finally lets the wards fade, the blackness has faded from her eyes. Her pupils look a little larger than usual, but that could just as easily be the darkness around them.

"I have Azkaban," whispers Lily, before raising her chin to the ceiling, eyes shutting dreamily."Come. I know where Sirius is."

James follows, slowly, warily. But Lily does seem to know where she's going- they head upstairs, towards the maximum security portion of Azkaban; and, perhaps, Azkaban is indeed responding to her, because they don't even encounter any dementors along the way.

"Two more flights," she murmurs, at one point.

This,thinks James, wand held too tight in his left hand, fear and anger a hot ball in the pit of his stomach, lungs a little too small for the rest of his body, is too easy.

And just as he has the thought, Lily's body seizes up. She doesn't collapse. Rather, she goes rigid as a board, and when James leaps forwards, he sees blood trickling down her nose, vivid against her skin. Lily opens her eyes.

They're black again, and James has to fight not to recoil.

"You didn't kill them," she says.

"Kill who?"

"The guards."

James shakes his head."No, I did. I definitely-"

"One of them just alerted the Ministry!" Lily says, voice pitching higher, almost into hysterics."I need- give me a- a minute."

Even as he supports her body, she flicks open the ward schema- it shouldn't be accessible outside of the guardroom, but Lily'd mentioned something about a loophole, hadn't she?- and starts tangling the strings together with a speed that looks like madness.

But the walls ice over; James can feel the chill in his bones as the dementors approach. Whatever Lily'd done to keep them away must have failed. It's clear to him, even as he watches her worriedly: she's faltering.

James jumps as the door at the far end of the hall starts rattling. He swears under his breath, then shifts away from Lily carefully- she keeps to her feet easily, doesn't even seem to realize that he's not behind her- so he turns to face the door.

The hall goes darker, if possible, and James sees three dementors surge through the door. The only illumination comes from Lily's ward schema, and even that is a flickering, pale shade of what's necessary.

He thinks of Harry, warm and small in his arms, a tiny, black-capped bundle that hadn't even been as long as his forearms, and shouts, "Expecto Patronum!"and-

And-

And Prongs doesn't leap from his wand.

A silver shield forms instead.

James is driven backwards one step, two, three. He sets his shoulders and shoves forwards, gasping. But the dementors approach, unconcerned by the flickering, fading shield between them.

He sinks to his knees. Sweat drips down his back. James inhales, exhales, inhales- and he breathes in freezing, terrifying despair along with precious air.

It reminds him of the peppermint leaves off the Orkney coast; that's where Potter Manor's been, for the history of their family, and it's where they're all buried, his blood. In fields of peppermint, where the wind bites through one's cheeks and the entire world is colorless and the sea and stone and salt all comes together in cold, icy wrath. When his father died, he'd clutched James' palms in his dry, fevered hands and choked on the word peppermint.

James lifts his head, shaking, and bites down on his tongue, blood red and rich in his mouth as his shield winks out.

He's never been good at the Patronus spell. It's such a stupid thing to fail at; here lies James Potter, who survived Voldemort but couldn't survive his own despair.

There's no light. The black sluices over his head, starless and dark as Lily's eyes. James can't breathe. This will be how he dies: swallowed by his wife's darkness, by all the things they've sacrificed along the way.

The dementor reaches down and grips James' chin and there's nothing left in him.

It leans down.

James doesn't close his eyes. Even terrified, even cold down to his bones and despair a living, clawing beast in his chest, he won't die blind.

There's a rattling, slow inhale.

Lily...he thinks. He can't tell her that he loves her. But she's the last thought he'll ever have: his wife, lovely, beautiful, wonderful wife. Lily.

And something brilliant, brighter than a thousand stars, explodes out from behind James.

He sprawls, ungainly, on the floor. When he gains the strength to move his head up, he sees Lily standing, wand outstretched, blood dark and dripping down her face. She's staring at something, face white and eyes wide. But James doesn't have the energy to turn, to see, so he looks at her instead. He stares at her until he can see her eyes, pale and green and clear as spring vines chasing away winter's ice.

Relief clutches at his heart.

Slowly, aching, he rolls over.

The first time Lily cast her Patronus had been the first time they'd defied Voldemort. James remembers it well: Benjy Fenwick's corpse beside him, the yawing hole in his heart that he hadn't realized came with dementors. The sun had turned shadowed. Just that morning, he'd showed Lily his animagus form; they'd laughed, and drunk tea, and been happy.

James had been so sure he'd die.

Lily'd done the Patronus instead, a silver doe leaping from her wand to save them. He'd loved her so much in that moment- even now, he doesn't remember what he'd told Moody, what he'd told McGonagall; all he knows is how they'd fucked just moments later, in the foyer of their home, vicious and hard and bruising and good,like they couldn't live without it.

But now, in the icy corridors of Azkaban, glowing and large as any phoenix, is a silver swan.

"Lily?" croaks James.

Slowly, she lets her wand fall; slowly, Lily approaches James, and cards her fingers through his hair."Up, Jimmy," she whispers."C'mon. We don't have time for this."

"That's looks... different."

"If you don't get up, I'll slap you."

"Lily-"

Something settles over James' shoulders, warm and stifling. He jerks his head up to look at her, meets her eyes- those lovely, light eyes- and Lily says, quietly,"I've put up anti-apparition wards."

"Okay." James blinks."Why?"

"To buy us some time." She stands and levers James up, too."We need a distraction. That's the only way. Get their attention some other way- get them not to pay attention to Azkaban, just to something else-"

"And how're you planning on doing that?"

"Thor could fly," she says. Her eyes are so earnest, so true; it makes James want to shrink away. It's so fucking terrifying."Thor could fly,James. You've his axe. I'll get Sirius, get us both out; but you need to make sure they aren't looking for us."

"That's a big task," he says slowly.

Lily grins at him."You're up to it."

"Lily-"

"If anyone was born to fly, it was you." She steps away, towards the stairs leading to the maximum security."I've faith in you, Jimmy."

Is this the last time I see you?James wonders it, but he doesn't reach for her. They're in a war. They're the fucking leaders of the war. There's no room in them for those kind of things now. I love you, Lily.

But she knows that.

She needs him to fly, though, to survive. So James- his hands red, his chest cold, his wand steady-

James will fly.

...

(Here's a secret that the world doesn't know: when James first transformed with Remus, when he first saw that painful, terrible, unnatural change- when he shifted back the next morning with a bloodied flank and wounds severe enough to leave him with a limp- James Potter laughed, loud and clear and ringing, because this, this,was what life was about.)

(Here's a truth that James hasn't told anyone: he doesn't regret standing up to Voldemort, not even when it means he'll come after Harry. Here's a burning, terrible secret: James has regretted three things in his life, and none of it makes him a better person.)

...

"Oh, Sirius," says Lily sadly, when she sees him.

He's so thin. He's gotten so gaunt- his eyes are sunken, dark holes, and his robes are threadbare, patchwork things that hang off his bones. He also doesn't recognize Lily; he seems to think she's an apparition.

Lily bundles him out of the cell quickly, carefully.

...

Thor's axe vibrates in James' hand, impatiently, and James tries, hard, to breathe through the fear in his gut. The winds around Azkaban buffet his body, try to make him throw himself over. He doesn't know how to tell them that he'll be doing it of his own free will in just a moment.

As he clambers onto the stone turret, wand in one hand and axe in the other, struggling for balance, the world narrows to one shining point, glittering like a gem.

I've faith in you, Jimmy,says Lily, warm and loving, right beside him.

James doesn't let himself think on failure.

That's where the others fell. That's why Thor's sons and all the rest were rejected by the axe. Because the axe won't accept anything less than total faith in it. Absolute trust.

He breathes in, salt and ice chilling his lungs, and steps off of Azkaban's highest tower.

...

Lily nearly has Sirius out of the castle when she sees an auror limping along. The third one, she thinks, that had been in the guardroom; the one who'd called the Ministry.

Fuck,she thinks.

Then he sees her, and her world lights up with spellfire.

...

James flies.

...

He alights on the shore trembling, quivering, weak as a lamb. He's never felt so glorious in his life. It's strange, of sorts, to feel such disparate things together; but James catches himself before he can fall into thoughts.

Now is not the time for reaction.

It's time for action.

Raising the axe, letting it catch all the light, letting it swirl the clouds above him, James thinks of how angry he is. How desperately, furiously, terribly he wants to be safeonce more. How he wants his son to grow up in a world that loves him, and how enraged he is that Harry can't.

Lightning splits the sky open.

yes-

Chapter Summary

How afraid he must have been, he thinks, and grief curdles in him like a cramped muscle. My little brother.

Chapter Notes

APOLOGIES!! For the late update! Life got in the way, yada yada yada.

Content warnings for this chapter include: child abuse (of the emotional/magical/quasi-physical kind, because Blacks R HERE), redemption arcs Like Whoa, and lots of allusion to the casualties of war. The only POVs are the marauders and Lily and YEESH ARE THEY ANGSTY. I promise that next chapter will have more action tho. This one got long enough on its own!

Poem in the middle comes from Ulysses, of course, by Tennyson. Yes, James is a poetry buff, why are you asking?

Enjoy!

Peter is cold. So cold. Straight down to his bones, like all the brightness and warmth in the world has been carved out of him. He shudders and looks above him to the cliffs- the brothers Lestrange and the siblings Carrow are watching him on top, and Alecto Carrow is many things, one of which is sadistic and the second of which is in possession of a tremendously unfair ability to aim accurately and precisely at what she wants.

Right now that means Peter, if he doesn't move fast enough.

The cliffs are sheer, though, and even a rat would find it difficult to find a hold. All that's keeping him from breaking his neck is a wavering leviosa.

Slowly, squeaking in the part of him that's still a rat, that terrified quaking animal that cannot believe he's actually doingthis- Peter lowers himself.

It's ridiculous, in all truth. He'd betrayed James to the Dark Lord and ever after, he's needed to plumb deeper depths of courage than ever before. The Dark Lord doesn't take kindly to people remaining in his presence after he's dismissed them. Even if he's just crucioed you to hell and back. Peter would have said it was impossible to stand up after that particular torture, but he's seen others do it. He's done it himself. Falling down a cliff, trying to find Rowle- it isn't nearly the hardest things Peter's done in just the past week alone.

Finally, finally,wrists aching, Peter thumps onto the hard-packed ground.

He inhales through his teeth, like the opposite of a whistle, at the pain. Then he gets up, muscles protesting. Gives himself a moment's break to adjust to the new surroundings.

The North Sea is loud here. The waves break just a little farther away- but before Peter can reach the beach there's a ward. Slowly, Peter palms his wand and approaches it. Risks a look over his shoulder; the others are so far away that they might as well be simple black dots. Takes a deep breath. The ward's easy to identify- the delineations, the smell like salt and rotting bone- but Peter doesn't know what it means. Doesn't know what it's supposed to keep out.

Or,he thinks sharply, heart jumping in his throat, what it's supposed to keep in. If the dementors are rioting-

Well, if they are, then Peter's well and truly dead. The Dark Lord's displeasure on that point would be- something magnificent. Peter breathes out instead of panicking, shivering and drawing his cloak tighter around him in the vain hope it might keep him warmer.

I did this so I could survive,he reminds himself. Everything.

Everything else, Peter can redeem. Forgiveness- of himself, by himself, forget all others- might be a long road; might be an impossible road; but Peter hasit, for so long as he draws breath. The moment that breath is taken from him it will all cease to matter. All the sacrifice. All the death.

(He's seen the blood in Godric's Hollow. He's seen the destruction. Nobody loses that much blood and lives. And without James, Lily wouldn't get far. But: the blood. Peter can forget Harry and Lily and the pain woven into their once-beautiful home's walls. He can't forget the blood. He cannot forget-)

Head cocked, wand in bloodless fingers, Peter paces the length of the ward. His shoes don't leave marks in the soil. His back throbs with every movement.

Then the ward goes sharply inwards, following the natural path of an estuary bracketing the sea. The water's not very deep as far as Peter can see, but it is cold, and it is fast. He walks forwards, the ward on one side and the rushing water on the other, towards the beach. Something quails inside of him. Something that's stood before a Dark Lord, tortured and exhausted and unbroken- something that almost withers away now, for some eerie reason.

The first thing that Peter sees when he tops the bluff is Rowle's body.

Oh, Merlin,thinks Peter, horrified.

Rowle'd been a wild man, prone to a madness that Peter'd only ever seen mirrored in the Blacks. He'd never been a good man but-

But the man in front of him is cleaved in half. The ward had caught him around the middle. The blood is soaked into the sand at his feet; his legs are on the far side, his blank eyes facing up to the sky. Peter stumbles forwards, coming to a halt at the point where Rowle's corpse lies. The blood-

James, James, James-

The hair on Peter's arm bristles. He looks up and sees something white; something getting closer. The sea churns louder, higher, and Peter scrambles for his wand. Points it at the ball of light. Swallows and doesn't breathe, even as the light falls and lands, gracefully, at the beach where Peter cannot go because of the ward.

The light fades a little to reveal a slim, dark-haired man. He holds something too large to be a wand in one hand. Otherwise, he wears robes in the cut of aurors, but black instead of their red. He turns, sweeping over the beach for a brief moment, before he lifts the object in his hand to the heavens.

It's all the warning Peter has before the world explodes.

He's aware of something screaming- he becomes aware, slowly, that it's him- and then Peter realizes that his wand's still in his hand. He looks up. He's fallen to his knees; the sand is gritty under his knees. The lightning is too bright for him. For a brief moment, Peter feels blind.

But then the light darkens for a brief moment. Even half-blind, Peter would have known that angled face. The withered thing inside of him shrivels further in on itself. All his sins come to roost- all his grief-

Because there, face illuminated from within, brighter than even the sun, stands James Potter.

...

Light streaks the stone near his hands. Pain lashes down his spine. Someone screams, far in the distance, and he is aware of a woman with thick red hair fighting desperately to get to him. But there is a man between them, and he is busy minding the woman's spells. He's already ignored the shell that's slumped against the wall.

Pain,thinks Sirius, and for the first time in weeks feels something catch in his chest. Something hot, like an ember on the verge of breaking into flames. Oh, mate, this is your fucking mistake.

The red-haired woman is being driven backwards. She's not quite so good at dueling as the man in front of her. But that doesn't matter; because all it takes is one heartbeat of inattention, and Sirius hasit-

He leaps.

Mid-air, his skin turns to fur. His face elongates. His jaw becomes stronger. His ears become better. The cold lessens.

And between breaths, Sirius tears out Theodore Nott's throat.

...

A calling card to all the Death Eaters in the area.

James drops the lightning; it takes more energy than it's worth, even if he'd been careful to only call it from the already ever-present storms above the North Sea. A flick of his wrist makes the axe disappear. Another, and his wand's in his hand.

There's a shuffling sound behind him, and James snaps his wand around. He's an auror, at the end of the day, and that training's embedded into his muscles. The roll of his body out of the way, the punishing angle of his wrist as he aims it blindly at the spot- it's the work of a moment, all instinct.

But then he sees.

Fuck,thinks James, swallowing hard. Peter's at the other end of his wand, and he looks like he's shitting himself. Like he's scared. Like he's scared of James. Fuck, fuck, fuck-

"Peter," he says, because he can't think of anything else to do.

"This's impossible," whispers Peter. He's gone deathly white."Ghosts don't- you can't- he killedyou!"

"Who?" asks James, dangerously soft. Something's thrumming in him, thinking about Lily, about dementors, about a Patronus that no longer brands her as his."Your master, Pete?"

Peter flinches, whole-bodied."Don't- don't call me that."

"Would you prefer Wormtail?"

"You're a ghost," says Peter, tilting his chin up. There's something there- some courage- that he hadn't had before. James wants to snarl at it."You can't hurt me-"

James slashes his hand down and, in a flash of something hot and bright, Rowle's body disappears. Peter quails at it. The cold, vicious hole in James' belly gnaws a little further. A little deeper.

"I'm dead, am I?" he asks, hissing."I can't hurt you? Oh, I'm so sorry, Peter, to disappointyou."

Peter presses himself further into the sand. James advances on him, the sand under his feet turned to glass, crunching under his boots.

"You betrayed us," he whispers, and there are sparks haloing his vision. Not from his wand; from lightning, summoned, held in check by his will alone."You betrayed Lily. You gave Harryup to Voldemort."

"I know," says Peter. "I'm so sorry, James, I had-"

"Siriuspaid for your crimes, you fucking bastard!" James shouts, and he is shaking, nearly vibrating."Do you know what we've lost, because of you- because-"

"I didn't mean-"

"You did! Don't lie to me! Don't you dare! You stood in front of him and you fucking told him, and you probably laughed when you did it!"

"If you're going to kill me," says Peter abruptly,"I'd want you to do it quickly."

He doesn't move this time, but Peter's eyes meet James' and hold. That chin lift, that blank face- those are all things that came after he joined the Death Eaters. Those are all parts of him that James doesn't know. But the way Peter looks at James now, it's how he'd looked when his father died, their fourth year.

Fifteen years old and bearing his mother's weight on his shoulders as she wept over the grave. James doesn't know why he remembers it, but he does, so well: the misting rain, the sobs, the look in his eyes, like all the despair and loss in the world couldn't turn him colder than he already was. It'd been the first and only time Peter ever allowed any of them near his blood family. AndMrs. Pettigrew hadn't ever really recovered, but Peter hadn't let on, not really. He'd just- continued grinding away, quiet, unnoticed, burdened and colorless until he wasn't any longer. Those eyes, watery, bulging, ugly.

Level. Everything else about him is quivering; but his eyes remain unflinching.

The other Death Eaters are coming; James can see them descending the cliffs. Surely this is enough time for Lily to escape- even burdened with Sirius. Even as he thinks it, there's a shift in the wards- something breaking. The anti-apparition ward is still up, James realizes, but the anti-disapparition ward was just taken down. Lily must have just escaped. And by the time the others manage to break through the general ward, his trail will have gone cold.

But still he lingers.

James makes a choice.

"I'm not going to kill you," says James savagely, free hand closing into a fist and opening compulsively."You're my brother." And whatever else I am, I'm not a kinslayer.

"I killed you," says Peter, looking aghast."I killedyou, James-"

"I know what you did."

"Then-"

Whatever else you have done, you are my brother. Whatever else we are, we are family. And that means that I cannot give up on you.

"If you want to make it up to me," says James,"you'll go to your flat."

"My... flat?"

"Your birthday. It's next week."

"I know that."

"Yeah, well, I had a plan for it." At Peter's continuing look of confusion, James drags a hand down his face."Gifts, Peter, Merlin. So. Get there. Pick'em up. Promise me."

"You're absolutely mad," breathes Peter.

James grins, and feels the lightning around him fade, his heart pick up."Birth defect, Wormtail. You know how it is, I'm sure."

"James," says Peter, quietly."I don't-"

"Promise me," says James.

Peter flinches. His hands are shaking. James exhales sharply. The others- Lestrange, he thinks, and another that he doesn't know- are coming too close for comfort.

Time's up.

"That's your price, Pete," says James, before twisting on his heel, darkness swallowing him whole. "Remember that."

...

Lily hadn't known how afraid she was, not until James stumbles into their little cave, swearing under his breath and viciously yanking the little dried burrs from his robes. She surges to her feet as soon as he enters; sees the flicker of lightning around his wild hair and lunges, grabbing his shoulders and dragging him into an embrace.

"I was-" so afraid,are the words that come to her mind, but she cannot say them. Not say them and keep her composure, and Lily's holding onto that with everything she has. "-well. You took a long time."

"I got held up." James eyes flick away for the briefest moment before returning to her."I met Peter," he says quietly, and doesn't move an inch when Lily stiffens in his arms."He looked- bad."

"Good," says Lily venomously.

"You don't mean that."

"Good,"she repeats. "I hope he chokes on what he's done- I hope they kill him slowly, those fuckingbastard Death Eaters-"

Slowly, she realizes that James hasn't moved. Her heart thumps against its ribcage.

"James. James, tell me you didn't-"

He lets go of her and steps back."Didn't what?"

"Let him go!"

"Lils," he says, and it sounds tired."What did you think I'd do? Kill him?"

"It's what I would've done," replies Lily. James shudders, and her fragile hold on her temper breaks."You know what he's done!"

"I do," says James. He runs his hand through his hair and makes it stand straight up."But-"

"No buts," exclaims Lily. She is shaking; she cannot look James in the eye. How dare he!thinks Lily, and she is crying as well, now, helpless little jerks that burst out of her chest in gasps. How dare you!"What he would have done to our son, our son,you would forgive that? You would forgive what he did to Sirius?"

"He's my brother," says James quietly."When you chose to forgive Petunia, I didn't do anything."

Her wand is in her hand, and it takes all of her control not to raise it. Not to hex James until he's bleeding from every single orifice, and a few more besides."Petunia's never tried to killme!"

"D'you know what she'd have done if asked to choose between you and her family?" asks James."Because I don't."

"I can't do this right now," says Lily, stepping back. All she can see is the deadened look on James' face; the way he stands, the fact that just a few moments previous, he let a man who would've killed their songet away."I can't- we can't do this now.

"You're right." James pulls away, face closing off even further. "Where is he?"

"Inside."

The sunlight had hurt Sirius' eyes when Lily apparated them away from Azkaban, so Lily'd guided him inside and called up wards to keep the cave dark. Seeing one more person like this- shattered from within- just reminds Lily of the cost of this war. Of the mindless cruelty. Of all the loss.

Lily's certain she won't ever forget the trembling and half-swallowed whimpers from his throat.

"He needs help."

Something flashes in James' eyes, brighter than Lily's seen since that dementor nearly Kissed him, there and gone in a heartbeat. But he only jerks his head in a nod. Says,"I'll manage," with a voice as uneven as the rocks around them, and heads inside.

This world isn't safe,she thinks, and grips her wand even tighter. We must make it safe, and it is difficult at times; it is terrible at times.

But- oh- that does not mean we shrink from it.

...

Peter, hunched over half of Rowle's corpse, does not move, not even when Lestrange swears loud enough to make a flock of birds take flight nearby. He does not move.

They apparate to their lord, and kneel, and the others tell him tales of lightning sprung from Azkaban, howls and other eldritch sounds from that island- and Peter does not speak, does not move, not until the Dark Lord takes his chin in his hand and wrenches it up to meet his red gaze.

"And you, Peter," he says."What did you see?"

He's been afraid for so long. Peter twitches, full-bodied, and then he thinks about Rowle, about light swallowing him whole. About the blood. James. His lord's red eyes. The red, red, red-

"Death," he quavers, and the Dark Lord growls in frustration before releasing him.

Peter lands on the floor, knees bruised. He presses his head to the cool marble stone and doesn't dare to move until all four of them are dismissed. His world is a haze of red, blood and guts and the taunting scarlet of Gryffindor, until he apparates away to his flat.

One breath. Two. It isn't his flat any longer, not for two weeks now, but Peter had bought it in a muggle part of London and it takes nothing more than a simple alohomorato break in.A slash of his wand, a magiea revelio,and a heavy package thuds to the floor.

His heart aches. There had been a chance that he'd hallucinated that entire conversation on the beach. But now... hands trembling, Peter opens it.

It's three books. One's a joke manual, hand-written by Remus. Another's a textbook on the Black Plague, with helpful annotations in the margins by Sirius; Peter flips the pages slowly, something bitter spreading through his chest. Look into this,Sirius has written, underlining it thrice: rats. Maybe we can kill some Death Eaters, yeah, Wormtail?

A helpless laugh tears out of him.

Finally, Peter puts it down. Reaches for the last book: a leather-bound journal, his name carved into the front. It's slimmer than Sirius' but thicker than Remus' and blank, all of the pages, except for the very first.

"'Come, my friends,

it is not too late to seek a newer world.

Though much is taken, much abides; and though

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.'

- To my quietest friend and dearest brother. I do not know what will come, Wormtail, but I know that I've asked more of you than anyone should ever ask anyone else. I know that this war is difficult on all of us. I know that the worst is yet to come, but I know that we'll get through this, together. Here's to ten years spent together and a lifetime more!

Wishing you the best birthday anyone can ever have,

Prongs"

"Though much is taken, much abides," whispers Peter, tracing the letters written in James' scrawling script."That which we are, we are. Oh, damn you, James Potter. Damn you."

He cannot act against the Dark Lord. The mark on his arm alone precludes that action. But so long as he does not knowanything, and only suspects, then there is a chance. A chance to hide it all, the entirety of the failure of the Dark Lord's plans. The dizzying magnitude of that failure.

Because if James is alive, then Lily is alive. And if Lily is alive, then there is every chance that Harry is alive as well. And if that is true...

It turns this entire war on its head.

But only if.

A nebulous possibility, all told, but Peter's a survivor. And if the winds of war are shifting to help them-then, then, Peter's going to live. No matter what it takes.

Not to yield,thinks Peter, and rises to his feet.

One act, then, for James' mercy. Nothing much. Nothing ever changed because of an owl. Nothing ever changed because of an unsigned, four-word message. This war won't hinge on it. But what Peter has torn asunder, he can mend; and that, maybe, hopefully, will be enough.

...

A brown-feathered owl wings over to a camp ringed with silver. It is small, light and excitable; it still barely makes through the sheer number of protections layered on the camp. It alights on man's shoulder and pecks at his ear. He opens the envelope the owl offers him. Reads what's written on the page, in large, blocky letters:

THEY'RE ALIVE. COME BACK.

The sun sets that night on a gibbous moon, and a loud crack splits the silence apart.

The werewolf camp never sees Remus Lupin again.

...

Fuck.Swimming up from the aches, Sirius realizes two things: one, he feels like absolute shit and two, he's safe. James is the person next to him, James-the-deer-the-man-the-brother, and something heals like sunlight falling on Hogwarts' turrets: irrevocable, deep and true as his oldest convictions. Then memory returns, and the warm feeling stops like someone's just stamped on a candle wick. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Pads?" he hears, from a man that sounds too much like James for him to let lie."You awake yet?"

Sirius breathes, shallow and measured. Catalogs his pains. He doesn't know how long he's been in a fugue state; but he remembers Godric's Hollow very well. He remembers Azkaban, too, and either Sirius has gone entirely mad or this is reality.

Can't help it if I've gone mad,he thinks. So reality it is, then.

Someone's rescued him. Someone who looks scarily like Lily, but Sirius doesn't trust his vision entirely. Red hair and a high voice don't Lily make. Plus, everyone's certain that she's dead. That ruin of Godric's Hollow... nobody lives through a magical explosion that large. So someone's rescued him, and they sound likepeople he trusts, but he's pretty sure they're not said people, which makes them untrustworthy by definition.

Slow breaths. Even. The barest opening of one eye, to see rough stone all around him. Thank Merlin he's in his dog form; it has better night vision. It also means that the person who'd just spoken- who'd just sounded like James- is human, and at a distinct disadvantage in the dark. It's too hot; stifled. Wards.A mental snarl. He slits open the other eye, lazy, slow, not shifting one other muscle. Sees the shadow of the man slumped against the opposite wall. Breathes. There, there, there,a wand dangling loosely from the impostor's fingers. One more breath, then two.

Checks his magical reserves.

He's got enough. More than enough, considering his starved state. Not enough for a pitched battle, so Sirius can't stay and fight. He needs to think. The war's still on. He needs to keep a cool head. To think-

No.

He needs to escape.

Sirius is a Black and a Gryffindor. He does not lie down, and he does not surrender, and it is the space of nothing, absolutely nothing, to shift, to seize the wand, to dig the point straight under the man's chin.

"You're going to take down these wards," he whispers hoarsely. The red-haired woman's going to be around; it's vital that this escape remains quiet."Quickly, now." The man inhales as if to speak, and Sirius flicks a mild stinging hex at his shoulder. "No,I don't want you using your head. Just take these wards- down-"

Sirius doesn't need him in the end. It's simple- almost muscle memory, more than knowledge. The ward falls with his first diagnostic charm.

"Silencio,"he mutters, and steps back, stumbles.

Inhales the air- tastes salt. Brine.

Too similar to Azkaban.

The man waves his arms wildly. There's something familiar to the curve of his shoulders, to the flash of light off his specs, but Sirius knows better than to be caught unawares by something so simple. He only adjusts his grip on the wand. Inhales, deep as his lungs can go, and apparates away.

Lands in a clearing in a forest in the middle of nowhere. Grits his teeth; rolls his shoulders; gets to work.

He's got a lot to figure out in the next few hours.

A lot to figure out, and not a lot of time.

...

Remus swears under his breath as he jimmies the lock to his apartment. The keys work, but it tends to get stuck if left unused for long periods of time. And Remus hasn't come home in- Merlin, months. Peter hadn't looked too good after his mum broke her leg, so Remus had gone to stay with him for a couple weeks. Then Dumbledore had asked him to go to the werewolf camps to either get their allegiance or- if that was impossible- act as a spy.

He'd known when Lily and James died, of course. Greyback had made sure of that. But he'd also known that stupid little bird, fluttering about his head like a stray wind might blow it away. He hadn't known the writing, but the Marauders have always been good at hiding their tracks.

The key finally just breaks off inside of the lock; Remus growls and snaps the handle before slamming into the house.

It's musty inside. He kicks the door closed behind him and drops his bag on the creaky shelf that serves as his dining table. Remus opens the windows, grimaces at the smoke that enters- he's close to the full moon, and his nose is far more sensitive than he'd like for this part of the city- but the smoke carries with it fresh air and the flat itself is too full of dust for him to live with. Two flicks of his wand and the furniture's dust-free. Another, and the kitchen looks practically spotless.

Slowly, Remus gets through the motions of settling back into the house.

It's a few hours later that his stomach protests the lack of food. Remus sighs; he has some food packed from the camp, but he doesn't particularly want some more bloody meat, barely cooked. There's a good takeout place just a few blocks away that's not too expensive- the issue is that Remus doesn't have much money to start with, and he's not sure how long it needs to last.

Fuck it.He's just spent hours hop-scotching from one end of Europe to another. I deserve a hot meal tonight.

It's not too far, though not all that close either. By the time he returns with the covers crinkling in his fingers, there's sweat darkening his shirt and making him uncomfortably damp in the cold winter. He's cursing mentally and juggling the stupid cartons and trying not to make enough of a racket to let his landlord know that he's back- a month's missing rent tends to have that effect- and it's why he's halfway up the stairs by the time he realizes that there's someone in his home.

Remus freezes.

He stacks the takeout on the landing and takes three quick, quiet steps up the stairs to drag in a breath. Smoke, dust, piss, and underneath it: a scent he knows all too well.

This time, the door doesn't survive his strength.

Sirius, stretched out languorously on his couch, jerks upright. Remus disarms him before pointing his wand directly between his eyes.

"Don't move," he says softly.

Sirius swallows. He ignores Remus- he usually does- did,did, goddamn, not does anymore -but only moves enough to sit up properly."Moony," he says.

"Give me one reason not to kill you," says Remus.

"If you want to do it, then do it." Sirius tilts his head back to meet the light from the streetlight. A faint smile makes his eyes look even darker."I won't stop you."

There's a catch.

There usually is, with Sirius.

"But?" asks Remus slowly.

"ButI didn't do it. If you want revenge, you should probably aim for any rats you see, not me."

"You didn't do it?" demands Remus."You were the secret-keeper. Who else could have-" he breaks off; tries to breathe. Tries to focus on Sirius, who's spread out on Remus' couch like it's just another day. Like they haven't lost what they've lost. Like Sirius isn't the reason they've fuckinglost it."Don't you dare lie to me, Black."

He flinches."We switched."

It takes a moment for Remus to make the mental jump.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Lily watched Dumbledore set it up with me as the keeper. Then she put up another herself, with Peter. You know how good she was with wards." Sirius' eyes, those lovely eyes, those eyes like black fire, haven't dimmed at all."I insisted. I thought- who'd suspect Peter? Everyone'd think it'd be me. Never thought it'd end like this."

"You never thought anything would end," Remus accuses sharply. "You were always too cocky. I told you-"

"Give me veritaserum, then, and be done with it," says Sirius, slumping in his position."But there's a war on, Moony, and I can't spend as much time mourning as I'd like. If you won't trust me, then trust in how much I loved James. I'll walk into Azkaban the morning we win if you'll help me now, I swear it. I swear it."

Looking closer at him, Remus realizes: Sirius looks like absolute shit.

He's very pale, but his entire throat looks shadowed with the start of bruises. His jaw's even sharper than usual and he's lost more weight than he can afford. Sirius has always been broad and powerfully built, but now he's sort of- crumpled in on himself. His robes are in tatters and he's unshaven and he looks like he hasn't slept in at least half a month.

"Where were you?" he asks."I thought- someone mentioned-" meaning Greyback, though of course Sirius wouldn't know that,"-Azkaban, but you wouldn't be here if that were true."

"It was true."

Remus stares.

Sirius elaborates:"Someone did it for me. I escaped 'em, though, not Azkaban. Nicked that wand offthe guy." He nods to the wand clutched in Remus' white-knuckled grip."Spent the day apparating around to throw off their scent, then came back here." He shrugs, a carefree lift of one shoulder that shouldn't leave Remus' mouth as dry as it does."Thought I could rest for a few hours. A safehouse, as it were."

"Someone?" Remus asks carefully.

"Me," says a voice behind them.

It's instinct.

Remus whirls around, the world going white around the edges with panic. He doesn't realize that he's tossed Sirius his wand until he sees the shield go up around them, right on the heels of his blasting spell. There's a shower of plaster and wood as the door Remus just broke down spins into the intruder. A second later and Sirius is standing beside him, body a line of warmth at his right.

"Breathe," Sirius mutters, nudging him."This's still muggle London. They won't try anything big."

"Apparition wards?"

"None."

"Can you smell who-"

"I don't trust it," Sirius says grimly."I keep thinking-"

"That I'm alive?" A voice that Remus knows too well, a voice that shouldn't existany longer, speaks up. Remus' hand is trembling; Sirius' breath is harsh and uneven in his ear. Then someone picks themselves up out of the debris, and Remus knowsthat lean line of shoulder and neck. That careless angle of his wand. That fucking hair."I thought you'd have more faith in me, both of you."

James Potter grins at them, glasses dusted white and mostly blind but also-

Alive,thinks Remus numbly. Alive. Alive. Alive-

"I'm a fucking marauder, you morons," he says, taking off the specs and trying to wipe the dust off."It takes more than a dark lord to kill me."

There's breathless silence for all of a heartbeat, and then Sirius gives a wordless, inchoate scream of something that might have been anger or relief or pain or some Black malady of too much emotion and lunges straight at James. He punches James straight in the jaw, and after that both of them are shouting and grunting and rolling incomprehensibly over each other.

It's ugly. Sirius tends to be stronger than James, but James keeps his head about him even in the worst situations. There's a lot of clawing and kneeing and yanked hair strewn about the opening of his flat.

It gets even worse when Lily enters.

Remus chokes on his spit when she does; she looks- like the rest of them- exhausted, but also alive, which means it's an exponentially better situation than Remus had thought just a few minutes previous. But it's bad because she brings with her Remus' landlord, and he looks pissed to high heavens- his expression goes darker when he sees James and Sirius banging about as they are.

"Goodtoseeyouweshouldgetoutofhererightnow," Lily says quickly, eyes flicking between the two white-covered lumps still making loud, intermittent noises that could have been charitably called grunts and Remus' shabby flat. Then, a little slower, with a meaningful look at the landlord:"I think there's peoplearound."

That's the breaking point for Remus' landlord. His face goes puce. He bellows, loud enough to make Remus' ears throb and- more importantly- to get Sirius and James to pause,"Out! Out!If yer not out in a minute I'll call the coppers and have'em twist yer ears'til they bleed!"

He's not sure when they bundle themselves down the stairs, nor when his entire life's belongings return to his mildly-charmed knapsack, nor when James apparates them to a seaside cliff. It all goes a little bit numb there; Remus breathes when his chest hurts and moves when prodded and otherwise just panics very, very quietly in the privacy of his mind.

Panics.

Because if Sirius switched, then Peter was the traitor. Because if Peter was the traitor- isthe traitor- then Remus' entire task to the werewolves has been in vain. Because there's only one way Remus could have swayed any of the werewolves to the Order's side, and that's by sneaking it under the alpha's notice. If Greyback hadn't known, then it should have worked. But if Peter had told Voldemort and if Voldemort had told Greyback...

Not panic, then. Not truly.

Rage.

Remus holds onto the fraying strands of his control.

Years lost to a fruitless task. A big bonus, too, to Voldemort's side: Remus is a good dueler, almost on par with Sirius even if neither of them are quite as good as James. With him tied up in dealing with Greyback, it means one less wand attacking the Death Eaters.

Years.

All that sacrifice- kneeling, that very first moon, to Greyback; Remus tends to forget most of his time as a wolf but not that, not that painful humiliation- eating raw meat- watching werewolves turn helpless children, marking them-

"Remus? Rem- Moony? Moony-"

Remus flattens his hands on the soil.

"Get back," he growls. There's someone touching him on his shoulder, but his irritation flares; that person yelps and backs away.

He hasn't had an incident like this since he was very young; years before Hogwarts. But he can feel it- the way the magic rises to match his fury- and Remus knows better than to try to suppress it. Not now, so close to the full moon, and especially not after he's nearly drained himself with the travel across Europe. He doesn't have the control to do much more than direct the magic. Hopefully it'll be enough. Remus inhales, and on the exhale, pushes his magic into the earth.

It goes. Deeper and deeper and deeper. Down to the roots of the trees clinging to life on wind-battered cliffs.

So few people know who Remus is. His father's story is well-known: a muggleborn speaking out against Greyback, whose son was brutally attacked. A muggleborn who married a pureblood McKinnon, against all the people trying to convince her otherwise. Remus is a Lupin because that is his father's name. But his mother's blood flows through him as well and he has always, always,had an affinity to the earth.

It had always been a sore point between him and Sirius- what Remus could possibly have to talk to with Marlene. All those long hours in the greenhouses ought to have meant something, though it would never have occurred to Sirius that they'd passed the time simply talking about family. Family that Marlene loved, and Remus' mother loved as well.

Syllables spurt from his tongue, ancient, guttural. Remus closes his eyes and bends forward, presses his forehead to the earth.

What we have come from, we shall return to. That which is given can be taken. The earth can take this rage within me, for it is stronger than those I love can bear.

Tiny fissures in the earth form. Coalesce. Deepen. Remus digs his fingers into the soil, claws at it, feels his nails start to tear, and the cracks deepen.

He thinks about Peter, smiling tearfully in his family home, yellow curtains blowing in the wind. He thinks about burying Marlene and Martin and nearly fifty McKinnons, saying an eulogy and a prayer and a blessing for them all, because there's nobody else to do it. He thinks about Caradoc Dearborn, who'd offered Remus a job in his law firm just hours before he was chopped into pieces by Death Eaters.

He thinks about Greyback.

The wind howls, and the trees shake, and slowly, inexorably, the cliff is sheared away from the land. It stops at the point where his forehead touches the earth, as the ritual is meant to do, and when Remus rises, he sees that the sea's churning angrily like a large mass of earth has just been dropped into it.

"Remus?" asks Lily, uncertain and more than a little taken aback. The others look the same, so he supposes it must have been an unnerving display.

Remus turns."I was angry," he says hoarsely. Swallows."It- I couldn't bottle it up, either, because my magic was so drained. I lost control. And earth magic's my... forte. So I made sure it didn't hurt anyone."

"It's a good thing we'd packed it up, then, or everything'd be drowned," says James, lips quirking.

He blinks."You were staying in a cave?"

"It was a good cave," says Lily dryly.

"Lily-"

"We have to leave anyways," she continues, speaking over him."The magic- if the Ministry figures it out..."

Sirius jams his hands in his pockets. He looks the most weary of all of them, like a stiff wind might just carry him over. Remus looks away from them. He's so fucking exhausted himself; all that rage has died down to a small kernel in his gut, and now he's just cold.

"Yeah," he says and stands."Got any ideas?"

Remus manages one step, then two, before the dizziness hits. He staggers. Darkness flashes at the corners of his eyes as he tries to get his balance back. A moment later, Sirius' face, white and strained, enters his field of view.

"Magical exhaustion," Remus grits out as reassuringly as he can manage."Just- need-"

Rest,he thinks, but words swim away from him before he can voice it.

The blackness swallows him up. Remus, almost gratefully, surrenders to it.

...

"Most people get exhausted from just five apparitions."

Sirius glances up at James. Remus' head is resting in his lap, and though he's got more scars and too-ragged hair, he looks good. Warm. When Sirius saw that blood in Godric's Hollow, he'd never even dreamed this might happen again.

"It takes at least ten to make it from Albania," Sirius agrees."I don't know how he managed."

"Yes, well." James grimaces."He's always got such control over it, you know. I never could manage it even a little."

"Takes breaking a cliff to make him faint. Not exactly easy."

"Earth magic?"

"Mm. He always did like those'Puffs."

"Marlene was a Gryffindor."

Sirius narrows his eyes."Bastard never told me."

"You know Remus, though," James points out.

Which is fair. Remus doesn't tell people things. He holds onto his secrets like they're going to kill him if he lets go even a little. If you confronted him, he'd admit to only just enough to get you off his back. Asking him about his werewolf thing had been like pulling teeth; asking him about why he'd given up being prefect in their sixth year had been even worse; he'd just flat out refused to tell by the time they'd graduated.

It'd been half the reason why Sirius suspected him, by the end.

Not the end,he reminds himself.

Through some miraculous lifeline, it isn't the end.

"Any clues on when we're leaving?" he asks.

It's not a subtle change of topic, but both of them are tired. Better to talk about necessities than life-changing secrets. Better yet to not talk, Sirius thinks to himself. He'll run his mouth as much as shout in this state, and with Remus unconscious and Lily nervy herself, it won't end well. Remus had the experience enough to ground his magic into his element; Sirius is fairly certain that if either he or Lily do it- both of them strong, and violent, and even worse, flashy- they'll blow a hole in the land that'd rival the size of Manchester.

James- bless his heart- seems to realize that. He glances back at Lily, who's pacing the edge of the cliff, muttering to herself. She doesn't look too good.

"Where, not when," he corrects."If we had a clue... well, we'd be gone by now. But we need wards and, preferably, a library. We have clues on how to go forward, but no information. It's driving Lils mad."

Wards. Library. Something sifts through Sirius' mind. Funerals and articles and pitying looks in the middle of Diagon.

This is a bad idea.

"'s it about dark magic?"

James frowns."Yeah. Think so."

Oh, this is abad idea.

"I've got a place, then."

...

Breaking into Grimmauld Place is... not difficult.

Sirius winces as they enter- it's moldy and dusty, but the worse part is the Dark magic, humming in the very air like an army of locusts. But both the homenum reveliosthat he and James cast return nothing; his mother's left the house, it seems, and even Kreacher isn't there.

More importantly, the number of wards cast over the house ensure it's practically unassailable. And the library is one of the finest in all of Europe.

That first night, Sirius puts James and Lily in Regulus' rooms, because if there's one room that his mother wouldn't have spelled with traps it would be that one. He levitates Remus into his own rooms. A few cursory waves of his wand ensure that there aren't any unpleasant surprises on the bed. And after that, he doesn't get much beyond spelling his shoes off before he falls asleep, stretched out loosely next to Remus.

...

Lily hates it.

Grimmauld Place is unfriendly, from the house elf straight down to the very walls. James and Sirius don't see it; they're purebloods, and all those little pinpricks of magic and spells that remind her that she wasn't born into this world don't even seem to register. That's not entirely a surprise, of course. Lily'd expected that when she began dating James and had accepted it quietly when she wed him. But she's also always had friends to complain with- Mary, and Colleen, and Jenna, who was in Ravenclaw but liked Lily enough to invite her into their common room when she wanted the company- and Remus, as well, to a certain extent.

Remus is too frail to even think about any of that now, though.

Three days passed, and he spends most of his time sleeping. It's getting better, of a sorts, in that Remus wakes for longer intervals; but that's only from what Sirius reports to them. Apart from eating and ensuring that Kreacher can't spill their secrets to others, Sirius stays shut in his old room with Remus, and nothing Lily or James do can coax him out.

It's even worse now, because she and James are fighting. It isn't a proper fight, exactly, not like some of the raging rows they'd had in the middle of the Gryffindor common room.

Maybe we've grown up,thinks Lily wryly. Maybe we've moved past shouting at each other.

Because this isn't a battle to be won with harsh words or screams. There's too much hurt on both sides- hurt pride, hurt love, and outrage as well, because Lily knows that James thinks he's as right in his actions as Lily's certain he's wrong- and if it isn't a loud fight, it's somethinglike milk left on the stove and forgotten. It boils over. It stinks up the entire house. It's a pain to clean up.

So Lily doesn't bother. She's already wasted two days trying to get the Black wards to untangle for her before leaving it for a lost cause. Azkaban's wards had been far more complicated, but these knots can only be loosened with Black blood, and Lily doesn't have any of that in her veins. Instead, she settles into the library and lets herself research, properly research, like she hasn't been able to do in years.

...

It is- a week, or perhaps more, when Sirius is kidnapped.

Not kidnapped, not exactly, but he wakes in a different place than where he went to bed. He remembers sleeping beside Remus. He remembers the moonlight shafting through the window, the curtain stirring in the chill wind. He remembers...

Silver fingers and the call of a wind so harsh it bruises-

Black robes cut flawlessly-

A voice of contempt and thunder-

His wand leaps to his fingers and slashes a line of fire at the figure standing behind the desk. Sirius growls, low in his throat, as it dissipates before ever reaching the man's face and rolls out of the chair he'd been sitting on to come up just in front of the fireplace.

Arcturus Black, Sirius' grandfather and Head of House, doesn't even flinch."Sit down, boy," he says levelly.

"Let me go," whispers Sirius.

Distantly, he realizes that his wand is trembling.

"I think not. Sit down."

"I will not," Sirius retorts. His wand might tremble; but his voice doesn't. "I am not yours any longer. You've no power to compel me, not since I turned sixteen. Five years have passed, Grandfather."

"I'd known you to be a Gryffindor, not a fool."

"And I'm alive when your precious son and son's favored son are both dead," Sirius says, letting his voice turn ugly."Let me go."

"Sit down,"snarls Arcturus, suddenly sharp, and Sirius flinches. He finds himself obeying, too, with an alacrity that makes old rage sing in him like a honed sword. The anger in Arcturus' face fades, though, replaced with thoughtfulness. Sirius rather dislikes the latter more than the former."And so it is shown at last," he says."I could not have commanded your cousin so easily, had I a mind to try."

Slytherins.Sirius can feel his breath rasping in his chest. Can feel the ache in his lower back, from sitting so stiffly. He lets his own eyes narrow and inspect Arcturus closely. Always saying one thing, meaning another.

"You think Andromeda would have let you?"

Sometimes the only answer is to force the truth out of them.

"When you are disowned, there is nothing that can be done," says Arcturus."That is the ritual that you demanded your parents perform in place of the Heredis Familias, is it not?"

Sirius bows his head. He hates thinking about that night. His father wanted to name him the heir to the Heir of the House of Black, or more properly- the heir to the Heredisof the House of Black, which is a role of itself with different responsibilities and powers than that of the Head. But while magic protects the Heredisfrom manipulation and magical cruelty at the hands of both Head and other family, the heir to the Heredisis given none of those. Sirius knows, knows,down deep in his bones, that his father would have bound him with such familial magics as to leave him a shell, barely able to do what he's ordered.

"Yes," he replies, and looks up to meet Arcturus' gaze. If his grandfather hadn't wanted him disowned, then he should have interfered earlier."Now, let me go."

"And yet I can command you. With great strain, but it is possible. You could walk into the London home, when the wards ought to have drowned you alive." Arcturus doesn't even seem to register his words."Can you imagine why?"

"No," snaps Sirius.

"Because Orion and Walburga never disowned you."

Sirius jerks a hand up. "Impossible."

"Oh, they did it legally. But magically? Orion was never a fool." Cold satisfaction gleams in Arcturus' eyes."He was waiting for his second son to prove himself worthy. A pity they both died before that could be finished."

A pity? A pity!

"Your only son and his only son are dead, and you don't even care?" Sirius' lip curls."I'm glad I fled when I did, rather than remain in a home like this."

"You wish to leave?" asks Arcturus.

"I think I've made that pretty fucking clear!"

"You enter one of my homes," muses Arcturus, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together."You bring a werewolf with you. You have the absolute gall to desecrate the homes of your ancestors by ruining those portraits. And when I call you here to question you, you think yourself in the right?"

"Who're you to question me?"

"The owner," says Arcturus silkily, "of the home you're currently staying in."

Sirius jerks his head away. Thinks, furiously. Finally, he says, more sulky than he likes,"I needed a safe place. I thought- we needed a place with wards. And better we die quick with the Black wards than slowly outside."

"Death, Grandson? I would've thought you too Gryffindor to give up so easily."

"War teaches you things." Sirius shrugs.

Slowly, Arcturus inclines his head."Indeed. In light of that- an equal bargain, then?"

Sirius stares at him.

Equal bargain?Sirius flexes his fingers over his wand, as much for reassurance as to ensure he's ready for anything else Arcturus throws at him. What the hell's he playing at?

An equal bargain, after all, can only be done between equals. That is how the magic works,it only ensures the truth's spoken when it's equals. It can't be used by a teacher to find out if a student's cheating; it can't be used by a general to make deals with spies; it can't be used by a Head to bring an errant family member to heel.

I'm not a Hufflepuff to trust you blindly. I'm a Gryffindor, and that means I'll drag you out of the shadows.

"Why?" Sirius asks, tilting his head to stare at Arcturus. Arcturus lifts an eyebrow, deliberately obtuse, and Sirius snarls internally."The ritual's meant for merchants. Won't take hold if we're not equals. If we don't think of each other as such."

"There are many books in the Black libraries," says Arcturus. Holds up a hand at Sirius' snort."Let me finish," he says, and it's so dangerous that Sirius finds his mouth snapping shut of its own volition."Many books, and many tales. A ritual for merchants, you say, and it's used this way today- but once upon a time, it wasn't. Once, it was used between generals. Between the left hand of Lady Genevieve and the first Minister of Magic, more than seven hundred years ago." Sirius swallows, hard. Arcturus is staring at him so intently."It was that agreement that allowed us to leave the muggles behind. Four hundred years we'd been separated before even the Statute of Secrecy. A monumental moment.'Tis fitting that this be another such meeting."

"It won't workif we don't think of each other as equals," Sirius retorts."The history's fine and all, but I'm not sure how you think that holds true for us."

Arcturus smiles, slow, thin-lipped."Was this not your oldest grievance against us all, Grandson? That we did not treat you as you ought to have been, with the rights that were yours by virtue of birth?" He nods."Accept, now, and clasp my hand- and see if that has changed."

The oldest wrong.

Because Sirius hadn't been the faultless son, and his father had retaliated by removing him from those privileges that an heir ought to have had. Because Sirius has learned right and wrong and a hundred other things in the years away- seven in Hogwarts, and five past it- but before that, always, has been his pride and his love and his rage, simmering underneath as a flame too low to see until the pot's a burnt mess.

Not a Head to his family.Sirius breathes in, and it shakes. One general to another.Hope sings in him like a fresh dawn. If this is true-

He reaches out one palm. Feels Arcturus' grip it. Stares into his grandfather's eyes.

"Information," he agrees, carefully, "for information."

The magic slots into place above them like swords made of blue light. Sirius rips his hand from Arcturus to pace on the carpet, restless energy in his veins, before he turns back to grip the back of the chair he'd been sitting on.

"You're starting," he tells Arcturus.

Something shadows Arcturus' face."My heir is gone, and my heir's heir." His voice is perfectly inflectionless."I know their murderer. I know that House Black has call to declare a blood feud with a Dark Lord, and the only reason we have not done so is because we are not powerful enough for it."

"You think Volde-"

"-do notuse that name!"

"-You-Know-Who, then," Sirius says impatiently,"you think he killed my- father? And Regulus?"

"Enough to declare a blood feud."

Strong evidence, then.

Blood feuds are bad business. Rivers have literally run red with the blood of feuding houses. For Arcturus to even think about declaring one...

Well.

They have an ally, now, and though Sirius will have to watch for betrayal- it is still better than the previous morning, when it would have been the four of them against all of the world.

"There is a prophecy," he says casually, watching Arcturus' face for the effect of the revelation."Regarding hisdefeat."

"Do you know it?"

"Yes." Sirius pauses just long enough to ensure it's clear that he won't elaborate."Tell me why I'm here."

"Because I need an heir," says Arcturus simply."As it stands, the heir shall be a Malfoy, through Narcissa, and I've no wish to see that occur."

My turn.

Do I trust him?Oh, Sirius doesn't, and he's certain that he shouldn't. But information for information is a time-honored truce. And Sirius recognizes that vicious desire for vengeance, singing rich in Arcturus' blood. That same blood that runs in Sirius, twice over from both mother and father. Carefully, then.

" The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,"he recites, not looking away from Arcturus. "Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies, and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."

For just a heartbeat, so quick that Sirius would have missed it had he not been looking so closely, triumph flashes across Arcturus' eyes like sunlight off frozen stone. But it fades, and is replaced by his calm mask once more.

"The Dark Lord thinks it speaks of the Potter boy?"

"Or Neville Longbottom," says Sirius slowly.

Arcturus closes his eyes and tilts his head back. Light fractures off his face, like something seen through a kaleidoscope. Sirius sees something that he hadn't ever seen before: relief, and hope, burning bright as dawn's first rays. He can't help but think that he's missing something.

"Another trade, I think," says Arcturus. Sirius jerks and stares. That voice- it's rich, deep, forceful. Arcturus hasn't sounded like that in Sirius' entire lifetime."Not truth for truth, but rather a gift for another."

"I've nothing to offer," says Sirius.

A razor smile, thin, bladed."You have not a name or allies," he agrees."But your word? For all that your parents doubted of you, your honor was never one of them."

Irritation flickers in Sirius' mind."Just because I wasn't as coldas they wanted-"

"Become the Heredis,and all shall be forgiven."

"I've done nothing to forgive!"

"Accept my offer," says Arcturus, unmoved."If not for yourself, then for those who depend upon you- that werewolf, for instance, who yet seeks shelter in my home."

The fireplace behind him roars into being so loudly that it deafens Sirius for a moment. He hisses, fingers digging so hard into the chair's arm that the wood crumples inwards. Sirius feels the fury in his chest at Arcturus' implicit threat, takes that fury, caresses it into something as sweet and palatable as wine.

"You think I'd give up freedom for the use of one house?" he asks, and then smiles at the brief hesitance in his grandfather's eyes. Yes. I am not tame, no matter how much you wish otherwise."I am a Gryffindor, yes, and that should've warned you, Grandfather: if you touch Remus, if you even try,I'll not stop until I've ripped you limb from limb and then shredded every piece of the Black legacy into dust."

"Two gifts then," says Arcturus after a pause. His lips are pressed so tightly together that they look bloodless."One, to use Black properties as you wish. Second, access to the gold of all the Black vaults of Gringotts. And in return, you'll allow yourself to be named the Heredisof House Black at the end of this war."

Sirius exhales slowly."One gift cannot match two."

A spark, buried deep in Arcturus' eyes, flares and dies. It looks like approval. Because Sirius remembers the traditions? Because he's spent years trying to forget, and all it's taken is a room of dark mahogany and cold words to roll all those years back?

"No," says Arcturus softly."It cannot. The second shall be a vow, to defeat the Dark Lord or die trying."

I am already trying to do that. Why would you waste another gift?

He is definitely missing something. But Sirius knows that he won't be able to find out; if nothing else, Arcturus will deny it to his last breath. All he can do is hope that he won't be caught blind by his vow.

All he can be is brave.

"Very well," says Sirius instead."I accept."

The magic above them dissolves in a shower of dust. The cool edge to the room that had come from the ritual fades as well, until all that's left is the study and its smoking fireplace.

"Then it is done." Arcturus bows his head and rises, heading to the fireplace. He opens an ivory box and reveals the green Floo powder in it. Sirius rises, hand almost brushing the powder, when Arcturus pulls it away, just enough for Sirius to look up at him."But there is a chance for more, is there not, Grandson?"

"More what?" Sirius asks warily.

"One last bargain. A challenge, let us say, to see who you are: the puling brat of your mother's words, or the man who survived Azkaban with both mind and body intact to a surprising degree."

"And if I don't accept?"

"Then you may go. But I have information that might be... interesting to you. On the Dark Lord."

Sirius' hand clenches."You want him defeated just as much as I do."

"That need not mean I spoon-feed you answers," says Arcturus airily."Tell me, now, whether you accept the challenge or wish to flee it."

If I don't take it, he'll think me a coward. If I do take it, he'll think me reckless. There's no way I can win.

Not unless I do this for myself, and ignore what he thinks.

And Sirius would give much to know what his grandfather knows. He's certain that he won't die in this challenge; that would negate this entire conversation, the effort that Arcturus has gone to ensure this occurs. Even more, pain is something Sirius can handle.

"Tell me, then," Sirius says abruptly.

This time, it's unmistakable in Arcturus' eyes: approval, bright and cold as the stars around them.

"Follow me."

Arcturus walks out of the study, not looking behind if Sirius follows. After a brief hesitation, Sirius does, inspecting the rest of the house curiously. The study's the only room that he remembers of Nox Aeterna,the ancient home of the Head of House Black, and the rest of the house is fascinating in it's own way. Not so dark and gloomy as Grimmauld Place, but rather airy, with large windows and curtains that shine in shades of blue and silver.

They stop at a balcony, overlooking a choppy sea far beneath.

Arcturus leans forwards and grips the balustrade, knuckles bleaching of color.

"Trust is in little supply and great demand," he says quietly. Sirius can barely hear him over the roar of the ocean."And the only truth that is of import now is that of magic." His gaze swings back to meet Sirius'. "We do this the old way, that which has been forgotten for long years: prove yourself, if you are to be named Heir."

Sirius lifts his wand and takes one step forwards. Arcturus matches that move. He, too, reaches up; but only to grip Sirius' chin, bruising in its strength.

Then he twists and in a flash, Sirius is braced over the railing. He yelps in shock, straining for his magic. But Arcturus is older and more prepared- he presses, so that Sirius is nearly bent in half backwards, head pushed so far that he sees the endless grey of the ocean instead of Arcturus' cruel face.

"You called flame when threatened," Sirius hears him say, as if from a long distance."But you are a Black and our home has never been that. It has always been that water from which we first emerged, dripping, to conquer the earth. Call the water beneath you, if you do not wish to be swallowed by it!"

...

Arcturus observes his grandson passionlessly.

He's shaking, the boy; he's an undisciplined mess, and an idiot, and a blood-traitor to boot. But he's clever. Even now, his magic surges around him like an uncontrollable tempest. Even now, terrified and half-broken from Azkaban, Sirius is powerful.

The waves so far beneath them rise, slowly, in response to Sirius' call.

The ancient call of the Blacks.

Arcturus watches the glittering rainbow strands of water spiraling up to the balcony. He hadn't done this for Orion or Regulus, too afraid that the ritual would damage them beyond all recognition. He regrets that now. There's much he regrets, but most of all the ruin of the House of Black in less than five years.

It all began with Sirius' flight from London in the dead of night. It will end today, with Sirius' return.

Do you know what you will become?Arcturus shoves forwards, grim and harsh, and feels satisfaction like silk on his spine at the way the water almost touches Sirius' palms. Do you know what you represent?

For too long has there been two sides in war: Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, with the nebulous Ministry a coin tossed and used by both. But now Sirius is in a Black home of his own volition, and hope lives in Arcturus once more. A boy born at the end of the seventh month, to parents who've defied the Dark Lord thrice over? Oh, there has always been more to the magic of prophecy than anyone can put into words, and Arcturus will not let the flame of hope gutter out because of other's plots.

Between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, Arcturus knows whom he shall side with. Between the Dark Lord and another side, one where the Blacks can stand tall and proud...

I am a Black. And for too long, the world has forgotten what that means. It is time for us to step out now.

The world shall change, immeasurably, and Arcturus will be there to see it happen.

He'll be there to makeit happen.

No matter what it takes.

...

James is in the kitchen, curled over a mug of tea, when Sirius floos into it. He stumbles in and sits down, hard, on a chair.

"I didn't know you'd gone out," says James slowly.

Sirius makes a face back at him."Wasn't by choice. M'grandfather kind of... kidnapped me."

"Arcturus?" asks James, startled. Half-rises out of his chair."Do we have to leave?"

"No." Sirius shakes his head."It was- weird. He was- weird."

James looks at him closer. But that answers fewer questions than it raises; Sirius is white, bone-white, and shaking, and his hair is-

"Did you go swimming?"

"I wish," snorts Sirius, leaning back in the chair and pressing a wrist against his eyes."The bastard shoved me off a fucking balcony,'cause it'd prove something to him. Guess he was angry I hit him with incendio."

"Incendio?"asks James, morbidly fascinated. He's never fully understood the Blacks and their family; how they're so cruel to each other all the time, for no reason other than that they can."Did he need healing?"

"Like he'd have let it touch him."

And it's anger that James sees now, crystallized and frozen. His hand drops and reveals Sirius' eyes, shining like slate-stone: unyielding. He's not shaking from fear or adrenaline. It's just rage, pure as diamond crystals. And though he's soaked through from his hair down to his clothes, he also looks far better than he's done for the past week while they've hidden and scrounged around the house.

Rest isn't something that either of them are good at.

"He treated me like a respected opponent," says Sirius flatly."Information for information, gift for gift, and finally: assurance for assurance. He spoke to me- one leader to another. Offered me the Black money and properties if I took the name." He looks at James."I took it."

"Sirius-"

"I told him the prophecy, too."

James inhales sharply."That was a good idea?"

"I don't fucking know, do I?" Sirius waves his wand and grabs the firewhiskey bottle that breaks out of the cellar before it can shatter against the table. Another flick, and the bottle's opened, and he takes a deep swig of it."But I did it."

And now we have to live with it.

"Why'd he push you off a balcony?" James asks softly.

Sirius tips his head back."Because he wanted to give me something and couldn't think of a way of doing it without being a horrible fucking human being."

"Sirius,"says James.

"A book. That's what he gave. For proving myself worthy of his fuckingHouse, I got a book." From under Sirius' robes, he reveals an old tome. Slams it onto the table."You-Know-Who asked for it. That's how my dad died, apparently, getting this back into the Black library. The curses You-Know-Who put up around it shriveled his heart into ash, but he got away. Got back home. Here. And that's how he died, the stupid son of a bitch."

James steps forwards and presses his hand against Sirius' shoulder. He can feel the tremors through it- aborted as soon as Sirius can manage, but not truly hidden. Not to James, who knows Sirius almost better than he knows himself.

"I'm going to take that to Lily," he says quietly."And then I'm coming back here with Remus, and we're gonna forget everything else. One night, Sirius. I think we're owed that."

No,thinks James, tightening his grip on Sirius' shoulder, sadness a gulf beneath him that can swallow him if he allows it. We're owed far more. But this is what we have. And we'll live with that. Like we have, for so long that we forget how to ask for more.

But there are things that cannot be forgotten, no matter how long they take to return. And James is alive, and his friends are alive, and that is all that matters. So long as they live, they can do more. So long as they live, they can hope.

They can dream.

...

Remus watches James watch Sirius.

Sirius is good at hiding his emotions from everyone who's not James, and James is notoriously badat keeping his feelings off his face. Add alcohol to the mix and it's like taking candy from a child. Remus feels a vague sort of guilt for taking such shameless advantage, but it's James who'd invited him to a party consisting of hard alcohol while Remus is incapable of consuming it with all the healing potions running through his system.

"One day," says James, words all slurring together,"we're gonna get away to a nice place. Have a vacation. The four o' us. Somewhere warm,where it isn't raining. No Lily, no kids. I just want-"

"Three," says Remus quietly.

James looks back at him, eyes blinking. For less than a heartbeat, his eyes look like the firewhiskey in his hand, gold and glittering and inhuman."Wha'?"

"Three of us, James. Not four."

"You're backing out?" he demands, with all the fervor of a person who's properly sloshed."Well, fuck you too, Lupin. Making our schedules line up's hard enough without you being such a bore."

"I'm not talking about our schedules," says Remus, with considerably more patience than he'd ever thought he had."And I'd be happy to come. But Peter's... not around anymore."

"I'll pound that bastard's face in," mumbles Sirius from the other side of the table, head pressed against the wood."Next time I see'im. Straight in. No magic. I want to see it happen."

"Yes, well." Remus turns back to James, whose glaring intently at Sirius."Jam- Prongs, look-"

"That's not nice," says James, rolling his shoulders."I've seen him, you know, and he looks like absolute shit. Doesn't deserve what's happening to him, I don't think, the poor bastard."

Remus stills. Across from him, Sirius slowly lifts his head.

"When?" asks Remus, deathly quiet.

"Right before we got Sirius out. Lily was doing that- I was the decoy." James' jaw juts forward priggishly, but all that means is that he's being stubborn. "He was there. I spoke to him."

"You spoketo him?"

James nods.

"Oh, how fucking magnanimous of you," hisses Remus, hands clenching and unclenching on his wand."Speaking to the man who gave you up for You-Know-Who! What, did you debate values with him? Tell him that he shouldn't have,it made your life a little fucking difficult? You absolutely sanctimonious arseof a pureblood, do you even know what he's done to the restof us!"

"Wormtail," says James, soft as a thread of spider silk."Our friend. That's who you're talking about like this."

"Damn right!" snarls Remus."The man who betrayed you, who would've stood by and killed your son, you, your wife- you ever wonder why you met him there? Because you were rescuing Sirius. Why were you rescuing Sirius? Because Peter put him there!"

"We get to be afraid," says James quietly."You can't demand people not to feel."

"He chose to be a part of this war!"

"Did he? Truly, down deep, after all of us had made our choices- did he get one?"

"Yes," says Sirius, so abrupt that both of them startle and turn to him. Sirius' eyes are red and he looks like he's been through a whirlwind right before being dumped into the chair, but there's sobriety in his eyes that hadn't been there just moments before."Yeah, Prongs, he did get one. Just'cause he was too afraid to take it then doesn't mean he gets to take this one now."

"Then that's your decision," says James.

"You're right."

Remus spins around so fast that his back cracks, to see Lily standing in the doorway. Her hair's thick and loose down her back; her face is as steady as a statue carved of stone.

"We won't ask you to kill him," says Lily calmly."We won't ask you to hate him. But you won't ask the opposite of us, either. It is your choice to forgive him; it is ours to not do so."

"Lils-"

"I found something," she continues, without missing a beat. James' mouth clicks shut."The book that Sirius brought back- I've found out what that damned ring is. I thought you lot might want to come to see it."

"I'd love to, but-"

"But?" asks Lily, dangerously sweet, stone face cracking to show something seething and hotbeneath.

That's when Remus realizes that though she hasn't demonstrated too much of her anger, that doesn't mean that she isn't feeling it. The Lily in front of him right now is frayed over at the seams, held together with sheer determination alone. She's not in the frame of mind to understand why James wanted a day's relaxation; Remus rather suspects that Lily'd been even angrier when James told her his plan.

She's pushing herself too hard,he thinks wearily. And when it becomes too much- and it will, sooner rather than later- she'll collapse.

Remus cannot stop her.

But he can hold her together through it, whenever that happens. And that means that he needs to recover quickly- even quicker than he has been- because Merlin knows that Sirius and James aren't capable of recognizing an impending breakdown until it's actually happening in front of them.

"But," he says now, before James can say something unfortunately stupid,"both of these berks are drunk. Anything you say's gonna fly straight over their heads."

"Like it doesn't normally," says Lily, caustic as acid, but Remus sees her face relax fractionally, and breathes out in a silent whoosh of relief."There's sobering potion in that cupboard-" she nods to the third one over and waves her wand, but the lock doesn't break under her instruction, though the bottles do soar out with the simple expedience of shattering the glass case."-oh, god, I'll clean that tomorrow." She directs them to James and Sirius before fixing James with a beady eye."You'll make sure they take it?"

Remus winces."Yes."

"Then I'll see you in the library."

Lily turns on her heel and leaves. Remus lifts his brows back at James and Sirius, both of whom are eyeing the potion with distaste.

"Well, get on with it, then," he says, forcibly cheerful."Bottom's up!"

...

Lily would feel more pity for the others if she hadn't been working so damn hard herself. She knowsshe's being unfair. Intellectually, that knowledge is present. What isn't is her patience. They can rest once this war is over, and wanting to live during it-

We survive,she thinks, tapping her nails against the book-cover impatiently. We survive, and only once we've managed that, we live.

The memory of James comparing Peter to her sister still blazes, like a hot coal set against her breast. Petunia is nasty and low and mean but she's not evil. And Peter- what he's done is evil. Letting Voldemort come after them, betraying them like that... it's evil, like taking the heart out of an innocent and crushing it to dust.

When Lily closes her eyes, she can hear Harry's terrified screams; she can smell James' blood. She's slept, yes, but only in short stretches, and mostly subsists on Dreamless Sleep once every four days, which is just long enough not to build up either resistance or dependence. She's furious and exhausted and surviving in a home that she loathes with every inch of her body, and it is all Peter's fault.

I hate him,thinks Lily, and bows her head, draws that hate into herself like poison sucking out of the wound. This will not hurt me; this won't be my downfall. But there will come a time when Peter is not on guard, and then I will strike.

A lioness does not hesitate to bring a fawn. And if backed into a corner, a den of loved ones behind her, a lioness is even more dangerous.

She'd joined this war because it was the right thing to do. She'd stayed because she was a muggleborn and a mudblood and in as much danger with her head down as with her head held high, and she's got enough pride to want her life to mean something.

It's never been truly personal.

Not until now.

Voldemort will regret doing that. So will Peter. By the end of this, there will be justice done for all those that she loves.

Distantly, Lily hears something crack in the kitchens. She tilts her head to the side and listens; she can hear the beginnings of some loud argument, and all it takes is one twitch of her fingers for her wand to roll across the table and straight into her palm.

I swear it,she thinks, before getting up to return to the kitchens.

James didn't know how he looked. Remus hasn't been in England in nearly a year. Sirius is the likeliest to understand her need for justice, but he's easily distracted.

It's fine.

Her friends are dead, and her parents are buried in muggle graves that she can't even visit for fear of leaving wards, and her sister hates her but cares for Lily's only son because there's no other option.

Lily will make sure they- the Death Eaters, Voldemort, all those pureblooded lords who dare to think she'll die easy- will pay for it. For every last ounce of it.

This isn't her first time cleaning up messes. This won't be her last.

She refuses to feel regret for any of it.

...

By the time she makes it down to the kitchens again, there's a full-blown argument happening.

It's only Sirius shouting, though; Remus and James have both retreated to the door and are just watching him wearily. It's almost like Hogwarts, where Sirius' duels- both verbal and magical- with his family had become legendary by the time he graduated. It only took James and Remus and Peter until third year to stop holding Sirius back, too.

"Remus?" says Lily.

James cuts her a sharp, slightly hurt, look, but doesn't say anything. Remus sighs.

"A house-elf," he says."Apparently his grandfather decided that allowing Sirius access to each of the properties means keeping the properties manageable."

"Livable," interjects James.

Remus shrugs."And managing means... a house-elf. Though it seems to find the broken glass a little objectionable."

"So why's Sirius the one acting like a maniac?" Lily asks helplessly.

"When doesn't Sirius act like a maniac?"

"James," whispers Lily, a surge of irritation taking her aback with the depth of the emotion,"will you, please, for the love of god, just shut up?"

"Lily?"

She averts her face when she sees the naked surprise on Remus' face. Lily can feel the ache in her muscles; she hasn't moved in days, only from her room to the library to the kitchen and back to the library. Disuse hurts just as much as use.

I hate this.

"Sirius," she says instead, and steps into the kitchen, wand up.

Sirius turns to face her. His long hair's disheveled and his eyes are red. Behind him is a shriveled excuse for a house elf- bulging eyes, furious, twisted mouth, skin the color of copper scale.

"What are you doing?" Lily asks.

"I don't want him here," spits Sirius. Whatever calm came from the hours he'd spent with James and Remus have vanished into thin air; his hands are trembling, and there's a vicious gleam in his eyes that leaves Lily uneasy."He's a spy, a great big spy for my grandfather, and I'm sick to deathof this, I am, I cannot- I cannot bear this stupid family again- once was enough,goddammit!"

"Yes," says Remus softly, slowly making his way into the kitchen. He doesn't look away from Sirius. "It was. It is."

Sirius slumps right where he's standing, like his muscles have just turned to water. The desperate relief in his face, the way something taut and strained softens, leaves an aching pit in Lily's own stomach.

But that's when she hears the house-elf's mutters, which turn abruptly audible:"Mudbloods... desecrating the House... blood-traitors breaking cupboards... Kreacher doesn't know what Master was thinking, no sir... what would Master Regulus say, Kreacher wonders, oh, yes..."

"Shut up," snaps Sirius, and though Kreacher's mouth continues to move, no sound comes out of it. Tiredly, he turns to Lily."Please tell me you're going to say that we can leave this bloody place."

"Soon," says Lily, lowering her wand and then herself into one of the chairs. It might even make sense to have the conversation here- she's worn enough not to want to drag herself back to the library tonight, anyways. A glance up confirms that Remus and James are inside as well, Remus with one hand white-knuckled on Sirius' shoulder and James flanking Sirius' left. Fine, then. Here it is. "That ring we found? It's a horcrux."

It'd been far more complex than that, but that's what her research boils down to. General diagnostic charms revealed nothing but Dark magic; Dark diagnostic charms revealed, in general, nothing. But one had given faint traces of soul magic, and Lily'd jumped onto that trail with zeal. The issue had been that soul magic diagnostics had revealed the ring to have not a soul nor no soul; rather somehow, a mix of the two.

What is neither a soul nor not a soul?

The answer, in the end, being a partof a soul.

From there it'd taken little time to find what kind of magic could accomplish that. She loathes the knowledge that's sitting in her head now, all the byproducts of her research, but the end is present. Is there. That's what matters.

"What's a horcrux?" asks Sirius.

"An object that houses a piece of someone's soul." Lily watches Remus' grip slide down from Sirius' shoulder to his elbow and dig in. She closes her eyes for a brief moment."There's no way of knowing, of course, because it's destroyed- but I think it's fair to say that it's You-Know-Who's."

"He split his soul?" asks James, looking sick.

"To give himself immortality."

"Ah," says Remus."And do we know if there are any other such... horcruxes?"

"According to the book-" Lily shakes her head,"-no. Because only a fool would want to do it even once, and multiple times? The soul is what binds our magic to the physical plane. Take that away and the magic we wield becomes fractured. More powerful, maybe, but less controlled."

Remus sways, before levering himself into a chair slowly, not letting up on his death-grip on Sirius' elbow."Mad," he says."That's what he was, isn't it?"

"Master Regulus would turn in his grave, yes he would," mutters Kreacher from behind Sirius, just hidden from Lily's sight by James and Remus' chair."Tries to destroy it... but a mud-"

"Right, that's it," snarls Sirius,waving his wand so wildly it looks like it might take Remus' eye out."Impugno!"

Lily flicks a shield up quicker than thought, so the yellow birds he conjures erupt out of existence against it. "Stop,"she says into the ensuing silence, eyes narrowed on Kreacher.

"Destroy what, Kreacher?"

His eyes dip away."The mudblood is speaking to Krea-"

"Don't address her like that!" James says loudly, but Lily waves him away to step closer to the elf.

"Destroy what,Kreacher?" Lily asks again.

House-elves aren't stupid. Purebloods forget that, over and over again; they treat them like particularly faithful dogs, and don't keep in mind that secrets said in the presence of people who won't betray you doesn't mean that there won't ever come a time in which those people won't betray you. And there's intelligence in Kreacher's eyes, sharp as a blade, for all that there's hatred as well.

He's heard what she's said, and he's broken through Sirius' order to reply.

"Answer her!" says Sirius.

Kreacher says, slowly, grounding it out, "Master Regulus' locket."

"My brother couldn't have made a horcrux if his life depended-"

His eyes are glowing when they meet Lily's. They're so large; looking closer, Lily realizes that his skin is less the color of copper scale and more that of sea foam, fathomless in its depths. Love,thinks Lily, breathless, certain as nothing else. This is love.In all its terrible, cruel, enigmatic glory. Then Kreacher says,"The locket Master Regulus stole from the Dark Lord," and Lily's heart stops.

...

The whole ugly story spills out of Kreacher. The green glow of the cave. The bodies. The potion, like fire down his throat. The high laugh of the Dark Lord, and Regulus' rage when he left Kreacher to die in the cave. The grief of having no body to bury, and no one to tell the story to, and solely a locket of death and soul magic to remember Regulus by.

He's quivering by the end of it, trying to repress his urge to both tell the story and punish himself for giving up his master's secrets.

Sirius takes the locket from him. The metal of the chain is warm in his fingers. Slowly, he lets it drop onto the wooden table and breathes, lungs aching. He cannot cry. He will not cry. All that he has left behind, all this hatred, and his brother-

Their last words had been said in an argument. It hadn'tbeen in Hogwarts, but that was because it was Easter and Regulus was home for the break. They'd seen each other in Diagon by accident, and Regulus had come over to speak to him, and Sirius cannot- for the life of him- remember whyhe'd come over or what they'd gotten into an argument about; all he knows is Regulus, young, color flaring high in his cheeks, eyes blazing like the stars he's named for. Sirius himself, threeyears older and disgusted, viscerally repulsed with the tender way his brother curled over his left arm. Even back then, Sirius had known what that meant.

The only thing you love is yourself,he'd spat, and Regulus had stood there, wand aloft, mouth pulled tight. What would you know of love, you fucking soulless bastard? Only reason you'll do anything is'cause you want to make our parents happy!

Yes,Regulus had said. Because after all the grief they had with you, I think they deserve better!

No. Because you're afraid.Sirius remembers that last sentence with shame, vast as his hatred for his family. The hitch to Regulus' breathing, and the satisfaction that purred up Sirius' spine in response. And that's all anyone's ever going to know about you, Reggie.Regulus had stilled at that name, and Sirius hadn't known to call it hurt then. He isn't certain even now, but he hopes. Oh, how he hopes. Your fucking fear.

Sirius had apparated away, then. Hadn't spoken to Regulus after. Hadn't known he was dead until he read the Prophet, and hadn't cared about that until now. He thinks he should have. He thinks, now that he does, that this grief is-

Unending.

...

"Sirius," says Remus quietly.

Sirius turns, just enough to see him. His head aches. He hasn't been sleeping well even before this, and now- he's not managed even one moment of sleep the full night. His body rebels at staying awake, yes, but when he closes his eyes all Sirius sees is Regulus.

How afraid he must have been,he thinks, and grief curdles in him like a cramped muscle. My little brother.

"I'm tired," he says hoarsely, throat aching.

"You should sleep." Remus enters, and sits gingerly on the side of the bed. His hand hovers over Sirius' knee before coming to rest right next to it."You look like you could use it."

"No, I'm more tired of this,"says Sirius, fingers digging into the coverlet, both angry and exhausted at once."Of this stupid home. This- this way they act, always, like it doesn't matter if we survive if the family continues. As if the family isn't made of people."

And instead of fixing things, they just want us back. They don't know how to treat people like they'repeople, but they know that they're doing something wrong. And it's us who pay the price. Merlin, I hate them. I hate them all.

He doesn't dare look at Remus. Only tilts his head back, flat on the pillow, so all he can see is the red-charmed ceiling."He wanted me to stay," Sirius says soundlessly.

Remus inhales sharply.

It should be meaningless, and it would be to anyone else- including James, Sirius thinks- but Remus has always known what Sirius means, almost before Sirius knows it himself.

"It wasn't my fucking responsibility," says Sirius, and where he might have shouted it at any other moment, right now he feels like a thread so thin it's transparent; it exists, yes, but might well not in a heartbeat.

"Padfoot," says Remus, voice thick."It wasn't. Of course it wasn't. Isn't. Whatever. You staying with your family might not have changed anything."

Something cracks in Sirius' chest, hot, bleeding. Ruinous.

"Might," he says faintly.

Remus' hand closes on his ankle. His bones grate together and Sirius gasps from the sudden, sharp pain.

"Don't act like an idiot," says Remus loudly."You know what I mean. But this isn't your fault,Sirius. No, look at me." His other hand reaches and grips Sirius' chin and forces him to look at Remus' eyes, blue as- as- as flowers, and gems, and the sky, and still, none of that is as alive as Remus himself. The miserable stone in his belly lightens, just a little."Who knows what might've happened in a different world? If you'd been in Slytherin, or Regulus'd been in Gryffindor, or- or- I don't know. But that didn't happen. You didn't stay. They'd have killed you, or as good as, and I won't fuckinglet you feel bad for surviving that. Surviving them."

"Oh, Merlin," says Sirius, horrified at himself, at the hot tears rising in his eyes.

He can't even move, can only stare at Remus, who's not letting him up, not even a little bit. Who's only staring at him so fiercely that it makes the crack in his chest deepen, looking as patiently immovable as any mountain.

"Regulus died a hero," Remus tells him."That's what matters. That's what you should remember him as: the man who faced Vold- You-Know-Who himself, and decided he wanted no part of it. Who decided to do something, instead of just running."

"Remus- fucking- let go-"

"No," says Remus."Fuck you, I'll stay like this if I want to."

Laughter punches through the sobs caught in his chest, like a knife through paper. Sirius hears the horrible sound erupt from his chest and inhales, gasping, razor-edged. Remus immediately lets go of his chin; but just when Sirius starts to curl in on himself, he feels arms come up, swallow him whole in an embrace that shouldn't be possible when Remus is two inches shorter and nowhere near as broad.

"I hate this," Sirius whispers, weary, what feels like hours later.

"I know," says Remus, and he is warm and soft and stroking one hand down Sirius' scalp."I know, Padfoot."

He sleeps, then, and though the world is made of cold, cruel things, Sirius feels none of it that night. Not as he is, safe in Remus' arms.

...

Lily closes her eyes for just a moment before summoning her courage. The rap of her knuckles on the door shouldn't feel as momentous as it does. But still she hesitates, even after she hears the muffled "Come in!"from within.

Then, breathing deep, she enters.

It's James, sitting at the desk in the corner of the room. He's leaning back so there's only two feet on the floor, wand spinning in his hand and spitting up sparks.

"We should talk," she says.

James wand still in his hands. His chair thuds onto the ground. Then he nods.

Lily clambers onto the bed and folds her legs under her."Why?" she asks, sharper than she'd meant but still aching.

"Because he's Peter," says James quietly. The sparks from his wand light up the bottom of his face- the chin, the juts of his cheekbones."I've known him since he was eleven, Lily. I can't just- forget that."

"He tried to killus," says Lily."If you've forgotten."

"Only reason you can think of for me not being a vengeful bastard?"

"He held Harry and swore to protect us and then he gave us up." Lily runs a hand through her hair, tries to still the tremors."I don't know how you can just forget that he gave us up!"

"I didn't. I can't forget that. But he loved Harry, Lils. He loved you, and me, and not all of it was a lie." James looks so earnest. Eyes shining. Face glowing. "I believe that. It's Peter,for Merlin's sake! That's what you, all of you, keep forgetting! He's pants at lying and shit at acting and if we live in a world where Peter fooled us into believing he loved us for yearswithout us doubting him for a minute- then I don't know if I can believe anything at all, Lily. Not anything."

Lily folds her fingers together. She hasn't forgotten. Hadn't forgotten. That's true enough. But Lily thinks that she'd chosen not to dwell on it; because she hadn't been able to, not in those first horrible days when she hadn't known if James would survive and all she'd had was Harry and a wand and fear like a steady wolf at her heels.

She thinks: Peter, in Hogwarts, hair a flaxen gold and a laugh softer but far, far more often than all of theirs. He hadn't liked her much in the beginning, because Lily hadn't been very nice to James that seventh year before they started going out. But they'd been the only Gryffindors in NEWT Charms and in between tutoring and desperate cramming, both of them had become something like friends. Then had come their training in charm-work, in Brussels for Lily and Antwerp for Peter. And after- the war, the silence, the warmth of his hand over hers as they both waited in the kitchen for James and Sirius to come home.

"Then why'd he do this, Jimmy?" Lily lifts her eyes to James, and doesn't look away. She can be courageous. Now, with a world balanced on her shoulders and the flames of her rage faded to ash, she can be courageous."How, if he did not hate us?"

"I think," says James quietly."I- I think he was afraid. Always. And Pete was the quietest of us, and we started thinking that if he didn't say anything that meant he was fine with it." He stands and makes his way closer to Lily, though he doesn't touch her. The window behind him limns his body, throws his features into shadow but makes his outline shine."I miss him, Lils. And I'm furious at what he's done. Of course I am. But- he's Peter."

Oh, but James has never moved past people as Lily has done; he has never had his heart broken like she has. He moves through life as if certain that he won't be killed by it.

"What if he's killed people?"

"I have too," says James, a little wryly."But. No. He hasn't. When I saw him- it's not the look of a man who's planned it. He hasn't."

Lily reaches up and grips his wrist. She can feel his heart there, in those slender muscles and delicate bones."If it comes down to you and him, if it's down to you two-"

"I don't know," says James.

Lily cannot look away. She is caught, is speared, by the old, resigned light in James' eyes.

Not as if he won't be killed,thinks Lily, heart rending in her chest. No. As if he would rather die, than survive in a world like that, where friendship means less than the metal in a knut. Where loyalty is nothing but a name for fools, and honor is empty as the armor of knights centuries slain.

If we wish to make this world brighter, we must do it ourselves.

"Jimmy."

"I don't know. It depends. But- if it's just me, Lily, if it's down to just me and just him, I don't know if I can kill him." He leans down, and presses his lips to the very tips of her fingers."I do not know, and that is the entire truth."

"I believe you." Lily twists and grabs James, hauls him closer to her, embraces him so tightly that she cannot breathe."I believeyou, and I hate this, and if you aren't next to me when this war is over, I'll kill you myself, you stupid, stupid, stupidman."

"Ah, Lils," he says, "I think you'll have to queue up for the privilege. Merlin knows I've pissed enough Death Eaters off to have'em ahead of you."

She burrows closer to him, until James finally gives in and topples onto the bed, half on her, half on the mattress."I hate you," she mumbles into his shirt. Then, before he can answer:"If you let a Death Eater kill you, I'll make sure to have a child just so I can name it Elvendork and imagine your anger from beyond the grave."

"Now that,"says James, voice like a rich song rising around them,"is definitely a reason to stay alive."

there will be singing

Chapter Notes

Been a while, hasn't it? Hope y'all enjoy XDD

Also. Um. Warnings for this chapter include body horror, which is not usually one of my things but people with a vivid imagination might find it... disturbing. Other than that it's just the usual family drama and eternal fight against evil, vagaries of war, etc etc etc.

Lily walks into the tea shop quietly. It's sheeting outside- not the kind of rain that she's used to in Hogwarts that freezes a person to the bone; the kind of spring rain that's almost warm but inescapable. She grimaces at the water seeping through her shoes but keeps her fingers away from the wand. A warming charm isn't worth the magic right now- the Ministry won't care, certainly, but the witch in the corner will definitely identify it.

And Lily's here on a favor to Sirius. Which means bearing through the discomfort. Which means being a good little spy, head down and mumbling her order to the waitress. Which means observing the witch sitting two feet away from the fire covertly, and not being observed in return.

Andromeda Black- if it is her; she's wearing a glamour that's taken Lily near ten minutes to even confirm, much less identify- is a slender woman with hair so dark a red it looks practically black. She looks comfortable here, which at least affirms what she'd owled back to Sirius, but Lily'd have been stupid to take her word for it.

Lily's not stupid. Neither is Andromeda, and agreeing to meet a suspected Death Eater who's just escaped from Azkaban without any reservations?

That's stupidity of the highest order.

Which means something else is afoot here.

She sips her tea slowly, savoring the rich taste, and focuses through the steam on Andromeda. Her seat is angled to see both the entrance and the majority of the room; if a fight breaks out, Andromeda won't have to worry about being attacked from behind. Lily's eyes narrow on the cut to Andromeda's clothes- they're far more conservative than most muggles would wear, but not out of place in this chilly weather. But they also mean that there isn't room for her to hide weaponry.

A wand?Lily sets the teacup down and breathes, shallow and even. Yes, but Sirius said- she's not good at charms. Or transfiguration.

Both of which are necessary for healing, and Andromeda is goodat healing. Sirius had just shrugged when Lily mentioned that, but a healer without good wand-work is quick to be a healer without a job. If Andromeda Tonks- disgraced daughter of House Black, who abandoned a marriage to Lucius Malfoy to wed a muggleborn, with enough enemies on both sides of this war to have probably been among the war's first casualties- maintains her job at St. Mungo's, then it's not because of any patronage. It's because of quality.

I'm an idiot,thinks Lily, fingers twitching. She drains the last of her tea and makes a production of checking the time on her watch before getting up to leave; best not to give people a reason to remember her. I'm a muggleborn who can ward better than most purebloods, despite no formal training. Of course she can be a healer without being quick. It just means-

She emerges into the rain and inspects the squat building critically. There's no way Andromeda would have defaced the front; it's too visible. But every city has back alleys, and if Lily's got her measure of this one right now...

She slips through the narrow alley to the side of the building, so small that she'd have missed it if she hadn't been looking so closely. Her shoulders brush brick on either side. Then she's at the back of the building, and though it stinks of refuse- Lily feels momentarily dizzy with it- there's a small staircase leading up to the roof of the tea shop. It's half-rusted through.

Lily grits her teeth and walks.

On the roof, she kneels on the gravel to see. Lily doesn't know exactly what she's looking for, and she can't search for it- latent magic's tricky that way- but she'll know it when she finds it. Her fingers scrape along the brick of the side-bar until she feels a strange smoothness. Magic abruptly blooms around her, and her forearm blazes with heat. Heart racing, she ducks under the lip to check.

Four runes are glowing a dull red on a transfigured metal brick.

"Fuck," mutters Lily, backing away.

Wards can be constructed with wand-work, runes, or some mix of the two. Wand-work tends to be quicker; runes tend to be stronger. Lily's never had the patience to delve deep into rune-study, but if Andromeda did- of course she won't need flashy wand-work, then. Not if she's brilliant at runes.

Lily doesn't recognize these runes either, and she's not confident enough to trigger them any further without knowing what they stand for. When she glances around her, she sees a red dome- the same shade as the runes- covering the entire roof.

No trying to escape.Lily lifts her wand and focuses on a happy memory before dragging the point of the wand down. A swan emerges from its tip, and she watches it wing away swiftly. So you bring the escape to you.

The entire point of Lily coming here before Sirius is to ensure there's nothing lethal in Andromeda's defenses. Not to activate them. But what's done is done- best to alter the plan than beat a dead horse.

There's a scraping sound behind her, and Lily turns to see Andromeda standing at the entrance to the roof. She's wearing an oily black coat that looks waterproof. Her hair's no longer that peculiar shade between red and black; it's just black, and her resemblance to Bellatrix can't be missed.

"Well, then," she says, wand aimed directly at Lily's chest,"who are you?"

"Lily Potter," says Lily calmly, rising to her feet and nodding back.

Recognition sparks in Andromeda's eyes."You were in the Propheta few weeks ago. You-Know-Who came to your home?"

"We escaped," says Lily.

"Obviously. How?"

"Magic."

Andromeda's lips twist."And you're here to warn me away from Sirius, I presume?"

"No," says Lily, before twisting her wrist into the movements of a warming charm around them. The rain's irritating enough without having this conversation in it."I'm here to make sure you don't kill him."

"I won't let you hurt him."

It takes a moment for Lily to make the connection- clearly, Andromeda's read the papers; she knows that Sirius betrayed James and Lily. She lifts an eyebrow back at Andromeda instead of bristling, as she wants to."And I don't want to hurt him."

"I'm not fool enough to believe that Gryffindors don't look for vengeance," warns Andromeda. Abruptly, her back straightens, stiff as a board."And I'm not fool enough to ignore a man trying to sneak up on me!"

She whirls around and throws up a shield, just in time to meet the red light of a Stunning spell before slashing her wand to the left.

Latent magic,thinks Lily, distantly impressed even as she ducks behind a convenient chimney for cover. Sirius, I hope you know what you're doing.

Tiles, stacked neatly under a tarpaulin, emerge and fold themselves into dense arrows. Another flick of Andromeda's wand animates them, and they follow the direction of her wand to shatter against Sirius' shields. This is what runes can do in the hands of a master, and Andromeda has clearly spent years making this a battleground fixed in her favor.

Sirius is- in relative terms- holding his ground impressively.

He's drawing the rain around him in a spout that gathers all the debris from the tiles. Lily watches as he then redirects the spout to spit back at Andromeda. When she chances a look again, Andromeda's got a shield surrounding her body that shines blue when one of Sirius' spells splashes against it. Her head is tilted back, wand aloft, and the rain swirling around them looks less like an encumbrance to her and more like an appropriate backdrop to her beautiful face.

"Ad astra!" cries Andromeda a moment later, and magic explodes around them like white fire.

It blinds Lily. The first thing she sees when her sight returns is Sirius, caught in binds of something around his wrists and ankles. The rope looks like liquid silver; it winks and disappears and flares when he strains against it.

"Lift your wand, and I'll bind you too," says Andromeda coldly, turning colorless eyes on Lily.

Lily lifts her hands, open and weaponless."We had to make sure you weren't... colluding."

"Colluding with whom?" Andromeda's lip curls upward, disgust written plain across her face."Those who'd kill me for my choices and my daughter for her blood?"

"Well-"

"Or those who remain as ineffectual and moronic as ever?"

Lily's mouth snap shuts. Sirius, behind Andromeda, goes still.

"I warned him," says Andromeda, patting a strand of hair back into place."Dumbledore, that is. This is what happens when you surround yourself with Gryffindors. Stupidity. The people you're fighting against are chessmasters, and what are you? Untrained fools!" She shakes her head, and her voice goes flat and cool once more."Hope can only get you so far, Evans," she says."Hope and luck- they will run out one day. Mark my words."

"I know," says Lily."I know.Why d'you think we're not with Dumbledore right now? We can't. There are spies."

"This is war," says Andromeda, looking at Lily like she's stupid."Of course there are spies. Your mistake was not thinking of putting one of your own in their camp."

Don't lose your temper,Lily reminds herself. We're here for a reason. Don't you dare forget it.

"We need help," she says bluntly."We know that. We know that now, at least. We need people we trust. It's why Sirius wanted to speak to you. Some... advice. Help."

"Help, or people you trust?" Andromeda smiles, bitter.

"Help from people we trust," says Sirius hoarsely.

Andromeda turns so she's facing them both at once."I won't be a body in your war."

"Our war," says Lily softly.

Sirius shakes his head sharply at her, and speaks before Andromeda can."Believe it or not, Andy, I'm fond of you. I'd rather you didn't die as well. And I know how good you are at magic, so it'd be better if-"

"Give me a reason to help you." She shrugs, loose and precise and elegant as a snake wrapped up in silk."Give me a reason to fight, Sirius."

"You don't, and they'll come after you one day," says Lily. She lifts her chin. Looks right back at Andromeda."I killed Bellatrix, so they might've forgotten about you, but don't think that'll last forever. You're small fish. But they'll come for you soon enough."

Andromeda's face tightens."I've survived this long. I'll survive them, too."

"You've survived our family, Andy," says Sirius quietly."Not- them.They're ugly. Cruel. Bellatrix wasn't even their leader. Can you imagine? Someone smarter. Someone colder. Someone better than Bellatrix, at all the things she loved."

Something shivers over Andromeda's face, like a shadow passing over the sun.

"But if you help us," whispers Sirius, barely louder than the patter of rain around them, wrists glinting silver and light like bound starlight, "if you help us solve this one thing- I'll help you get out. There's a home in Spain. Small. Well-protected." He swallows."And I'll name your daughter the Black heir."

"Impossible," breathes Andromeda.

"No," says Sirius, an odd smile twisting his face."Not impossible. Just very, very difficult."

Andromeda closes her eyes. Presses the tips of her fingers to the corners, and rocks backward. She looks like a woman reborn when she lets her hand drop: something gleams in her eyes that Lily hasn't ever seen before. Her similarity to Bellatrix is even more pronounced, but so is the similarity to Sirius.

"Let's go back inside," she says."Show me this magic you need help with." She levels a look at Sirius that ought to have melted him to ash."And we'll talk."

...

Andromeda had never run from the Blacks. She'd run from the marriage they forced on her; she'd run from the lack of choices; she'd run from the Malfoys. But she'd also run toward something, which wasn't anything Sirius had ever had.

She'd always wanted to return, and she'd never quite managed it.

Take what people love,thinks Sirius darkly, shadowing Andy's steps down the stairs and to the front of the table, wrists aching. Know it. Use it. This is a war, is it not? And I am a Black.

Be careful what you wish for.

"The Black heir?" Andromeda demands, flicking a drying charm over herself with careful precision.

Sirius relaxes into the chair and flexes his wrists slowly. Whatever Andromeda had used to bind them had felt cold, so cold it hurt. He doesn't look away from her- the girl Sirius had once known had been kind, but war has the tendency to scrape kindness away to a faint dream.

"As the Heredis,such is my right."

Andromeda's knuckles whiten on her mug of tea."You were disowned."

"Legally," agrees Sirius."Not magically."

"A technicality?" Andromeda asks."You think that'll be enough for our grandfather?"

"What other choice does he have?" retorts Sirius."Leave it to a Malfoy? To a Lestrange? Who else is there, Andy? We are the last. And I have his word- a vow. That I am the Heredis."

For a long moment, she doesn't say anything. Sirius chances a look over his shoulder to Lily, who's hunched over her own hot drink and looks half-drowned. He turns back, and Andromeda's face is set in harsh lines.

"The Sirius I knew wouldn't come back for anything," she says.

It's not a question, not precisely, but Sirius knows what she means.

Why now? Why now strengthen House Black, when all it's done is shove pain onto his shoulders? Why would Sirius even care?

There are many answers, each of them true in their own way: those who hurt him the deepest are gone; there's a war on; Sirius has grown enough to accept lesser evils to achieve the greater. But the truth of it, the underlying stone on which all else is built is-

"Regulus is dead," Sirius tells her bluntly."Regulus is dead, and You-Know-Who killed him. He killedhim, Andy."

Killed him. Not true, not in the deepest sense of the word; but true enough. Regulus had run to Voldemort for shelter, and it was a weapon hewn by Voldemort's own hands that killed him. Sirius looks up, at Andromeda's colorless eyes, at Andromeda's sharp, Black features.

"We know how to defeat him," he says softly."Regulus' killer. And we need your help for it."

Andromeda sets her cup down, slowly enough that it makes no sound in the saucer. She looks- tired. And frightened. And something else, too, running under it all: determined, like a hound on a scent or a hare resolute on reaching its burrow before being eaten. What would a person who ran for years on end want? What would the wife of a muggleborn and the mother of a halfblood and the sister of Bellatrix Lestrange want?

What would a Black want?

(Because beneath everything else, Andromeda is a Black. She can run from it; she can hide it; she can deny it. But it runs in her as it runs in Sirius, fierce and unapologetic.)

Not just safety.

Slytherin desire,thinks Sirius. Vengeance. Justice.

Delight and hatred war within him. Manipulation isn't quite so difficult as he'd thought, and it's that which makes it more terrible. Delight at getting what he wants; hatred at doing it this way.

He doesn't look away from her, and Andromeda doesn't break her gaze either.

"I'll need proof," she says.

For the briefest heartbeat, the delight triumphs over the hatred. It feels like sunlight over a cloud. Like wings spreading warmth over his bones.

Sirius indulges in that wild feeling: he kicks back his chair and stands, draping his coat around his shoulders and flicking his fingers at Lily to get up. Andromeda remains, stiff, in her seat.

"You're done?" asks Lily, blinking at him.

"Yup," says Sirius, relishing the word. He reaches out to thread his fingers through hers. Andromeda narrows her eyes at him, and he steps forward and bends down to whisper in her ear. "Tomorrow, cousin. Carry that coat with you."

And he disapparates.

...

"It's a trap," says Remus.

James tips his head to the side."And if it isn't?"

"James-"

"If it isn't," he murmurs,"we're going to be really pissed that we didn't try."

"And if it is, we're going to be dead."

"Mmm. 'm a Gryffindor."

"One day that's going to get you in trouble."

James waves the parchment under Remus' nose."We have to go, Moony," he says softly."We have to."

"Fine," says Remus. It feels like he's back at Hogwarts: defeated, but not quite minding the defeat. Committing to a bad idea for no reason other than knowing it's a terribleidea, and accepting that before he even gets started. But he's so fucking tired of keeping quiet and hiding. Let them see his fangs. Let them see what he's capable of. "Fine. But you're telling Lily."

...

The next morning, Andromeda meets him on the same roof. She wears the same coat, her hair unwound and spilling like rusted steel down her spine. Sirius' hand is tight on Kreacher's shoulder.

"Sirius-" she says, startled.

"Tell her what you told me," Sirius interrupts.

He releases Kreacher and walks away, an impatient itch rising from somewhere near his boots. He knows the story; there's no need to listen to it again and again. He could probably recite the events in his sleep anyhow.

Regulus is dead.

Sirius exhales through that twisting pain. The grief of it. He wants, selfishly, terribly, to see Regulus as a ghost. He doesn't know what he'd say- sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, it should never have happened like it did-but he wants it anyhow. He wants his little brother back.

He'll never get it.

A hand comes down on his shoulder, and Andromeda wraps her other arm around him. Presses herself against his chest. Weeps, like something has shattered loose inside her.

"Oh, Sirius," she whispers, what feels like hours later."That's- oh, Merlin. I'm so sorry. It shouldn't've-"

"He liked you a lot more than me. I should be comforting you, if any-"

"He was your brother,"says Andromeda."You were- everything. To him. The brightest star in his sky. The person he could hate, without ever doubting your love. The- the compass by which he spun, and by which he measured the world. He loved you. Regulus never, neverforgot that."

"Andy," whispers Sirius.

She lays her forehead to his."Sirius."

He swallows past the hot tears in his ribs and runs his fingers through her hair until he feels he can talk without letting them out.

"I thought- I wanted to do something for him."

"Yes," says Andromeda."Anything."

"A Black funeral. I know where his- his corpse is. Kreacher can take us there. It might not be easy, but. We should."

"It won't be easy."

"I know."

"You'll be incapable of doing anything else for three days after."

"Yes."

"It might become dangerous."

"I'm up for that," says Sirius."Are you?"

"We need a third person. A third Black," says Andromeda. But then, slowly, her eyes narrow into the distance."But I know someone who would do it."

"Well, then." He swallows, throat dry."What're we waiting for?"

Andromeda nods. She gets up, shaky and uneven. The sun doesn't break through- it's cloudy, but there's the barest suggestion of light running above it. Her hands reach out, and lift him up, and she clutches his forearms with too-sharp nails.

"Three days' time? The dark of the moon, I think, that's the proper night to do it. We'll meet- I'll tell you where to meet."

Sirius nods. Andromeda steps back, and then she turns away. She doesn't look back.

...

"Gringotts?"asks Lily.

Remus lifts an eyebrow."They were the ones to send us the letter."

"The goblins don't like us much," says Sirius.

"The goblins don't like anyone much," retorts James."But I think they'll like the Death Eaters even less. It won't be long before hestarts cutting heads off, and the goblins hate anyone interfering in their politics more than anything else."

"You'll be risking your life on an opinion."

"Well," says Remus dryly,"we've been doing that for quite some time now."

Lily cuts a glare at him, and Remus raises his hands in surrender.

"Lils," says James softly, and she turns to look at him.

He doesn't speak; Lily reaches out and grips his hands. "We have so much here," she whispers."So much to lose. Jimmy- our family, our family.How much are we willing to bet on the chance of getting allies in- fucking Gringotts?"

"I'd rather die on my feet," says James, in the rhythmic cadence of a quote,"than live on my knees. I love you, and you love me, and that's why we're going to fucking win,Lily. What am I willing to bet? Everything." Lily doesn't shudder, but Remus thinks there's the gleam of tears in her eyes,"I believe in us, Lils. Always will. Always have.

"Doesn't mean you have to risk your life for no reason," drawls Sirius, biting the words off like a fox, all sharp-toothed and furious.

"Like you aren't risking it in giving Regulus a funeral?" asks Remus.

"That's-"

"Unnecessary," says Remus smoothly."But you wantto do it, and that's why I'm not stopping you. We'll be careful, we always are- but we aren't going to stop. Map things out. Study. Do some research. If it all checks out- if the risks seem worth it- then James and I will go in. This isn't us asking for permission, Sirius."

Sirius closes his eyes, a muscle in his jaw ticking. Remus wants to go over to him. Kiss him, smooth a finger over that tensed tendon. But Sirius always mistakes gentleness for an apology, and Remus isn't sorry. Not one bit.

Lily gives a watery chuckle. Steps away from James."Just forgiveness, then?"

No,thinks Remus, the latent heat of a not-quite-fight in his muscles still. An exchange of information.

"Before the action, too," says James fondly."You ought to thank me for that."

"You?" asks Sirius disbelieving, eyes not opening.

"Ah, alright then," says James, and he's smiling easily; he's not even bothered."It was Remus' idea, if I'm being honest."

"Knew it," mutters Sirius, and he slumps further into his armchair.

Remus feels the anger crack away like a walnut shell under a nutcracker's jaws. It's not fondness that replaces it; just something hot, like a knife to the ribs. Like the drip of hot wax on skin. Without James they'd be stuck on the first wash of hot anger, always. Almost-fights and too bitter words. The fury of things lost. They aren't like Lily or James, either of them. Too scarred. Too angry. Too harsh. But with them?

Somehow then, they feel like something approaching perfect.

"Shut up," says Remus, but he doesn't mean a single word of it.

...

Lightning crashes above her. Andromeda does not flinch, does not move. She waits, hidden in the curve of a giant tree root.

She doesn't wait for long.

Another woman emerges out of the undergrowth, pale haired and pale faced, dark robes wicked close to skin from the rain. Her hair is braided so tightly it pulls at the loose skin of her face and leaves her looking strained.

That just might be her face, though,thinks Andromeda ruefully.

She steps away, giving the woman a moment's privacy and waving her wand to put up the protections around the small cave. She feels the buzz of old, strong English wards like a tremor along her teeth. Only when she's certain there's no breach does Andromeda turn to look at her sister.

"Narcissa," she says."How are you doing?"

Narcissa's dried herself off, but a fraction too much; her hair's no longer tamped down but a gravity-defying bush that hangs around her head like stardust. She looks altogether too irritated at it.

"Terrible," says Narcissa lowly."This rain hasn't abated in too long. I think I'm going to expire from the dampness."

"But you've wonthe war," says Andromeda, sharply cheerful. Watches Narcissa stiffen, like the corners of paper brought too close to flame."Tell me, Cissy, how does triumph feel?"

"We haven't won anything yet."

"The Ministry's yours."

"And Hogwarts stands, doesn't it?" snaps Narcissa."Don't act like you're an idiot. I'm surprised you're not huddled inside of it like all the other blood-traitors, actually."

Andromeda lifts an eyebrow."So surprised you decided to meet with me?"

"I thought it was important." Narcissa hunches in on herself."You haven't asked anything of me since you ran away. When I saw your owl I thought... well, I hoped you'd learned a lesson. Since the Ministry fell."

Amusement flares inside of Andromeda, followed and inextricable from disgust.

"Because I was afraid?" Andromeda purses her lips when Narcissa doesn't answer."Gryffindors aren't the only ones who know courage, Narcissa," she says softly."I would never be able to kneel to anyone. Particularly him. I would draw a knife over my daughter's throat before I led her into that den of demons, and you know that."

She'd been so young when she left her family behind. Seventeen summers; a vicious age. Andromeda hadn't loved Ted back then so much as she'd loathed Malfoy, but she'd grown into both emotions over the years. She can still remember the satisfaction of walking out of her house when everyone believed her imprisoned in her bedroom, wandless and helpless.

Andromeda had shattered her mirror. She'd used the shards to slice into her palms and draw blood-runes on the carpet she'd once played on as a child. She'd walked out, and she still doesn't regret the scars along her palms.

The wand she holds now is new.

Narcissa knows this.

(And still, she's come. That must mean something. Andromeda can only hope-)

"You said you needed my help," she says, eyes glinting.

Andromeda inclines her head."Sirius has escaped Azkaban."

"He's on our side."

"Is he?" asks Andromeda."Sirius, our Sirius, who spat on his father's memory and laughed when he heard of his aunt's death? Who raised a wand to Bellatrix and lived to tell the tale? You think Sirius hid his feelings for that long, do you?"

"I- no," says Narcissa."No. But I thought he'd- someone had-"

"You didn't think about it, then."

"Don't patronize me," she says, eyes glittering."I knew something was wrong. But there's been something wrong for weeksnow, ever since Bella died. Ever since..." Narcissa cuts herself off, peering at Andromeda far too closely."Sirius escaped. Andromeda. How did he escape?"

Andromeda folds her arms over her chest.

"Outside help," breathes Narcissa."He didn't manage it on his own."

"Of course he didn't," snaps Andromeda."He was in Azkaban, you think he could break out of there on his own?"

"And this is dangerous." Her eyes narrow, too-thoughtful."Because the person helping Sirius isn't in Hogwarts. The timeline wouldn't work out, would it? They're outside. There's anotherrebellion, and it's outside, and- oh, Merlin, it's underground, isn't it?"

Sometimes, Andromeda forgets exactly how sharp Narcissa is. The leaps she can make in seconds, which others wouldn't catch for weeks.

"It'd hardly be surviving if it weren't."

Narcissa trembles at the words and whirls to leave. To tell her husband, and then You-Know-Who. And then-

Andromeda shakes off the specters of the future. Focuses.

"Before you leave," she calls out to Narcissa's back, "you'll want to hear one more thing."

Narcissa whirls around. "Andromeda-"

"Our grandfather has chosen a side. And it isn't your husband's." Narcissa goes white. Andromeda reaches forwards and clasps her upper arm. Squeezes, gently."It's time for you to choose yours, Narcissa."

She doesn't move."I've chosen it."

"You've let our father chose your side," says Andromeda fiercely."Then your husband. You have kept silent, and let yourself be carried by their decisions, but that does not mean you must always be so. You hadn't had any support for all these years- you survived it- but that doesn't mean you no longer do."

Narcissa laughs shrilly."No longer? Who will stand up to Him now? Who will dare? Dumbledore will fall soon; Hogwarts will crumble. And then all that will be left is the Dark. Survival means-"

"-our grandfather knows about survival," says Andromeda."Arcturus Black. Famously neutral, despite having grandchildren on both sides of this war. He's willing to act now, and he has Sirius on his side,and they want our help."

"With what?" Narcissa asks tightly."I won't do anything against Him, even if-"

"And I'm not asking that of you," says Andromeda."What, do you take me for a fool? No- I'll promise you that You-Know-Who won't care about your actions at all. They will neither hinder nor help him. This is... purely a Black family matter."

"I don't believe you."

"Do I look like I'm lying?" asks Andromeda calmly."I know you won't help with that, so I'm not asking it of you. But you'll want to do this."

"Andr-"

"It's Regulus."

Narcissa's mouth snaps shut.

"Yes," says Andromeda quietly."I rather had the same reaction when Sirius told me."

"He's dead."

"Yes," she says, throat hurting."But Sirius found where he died. He's honest about it; I checked it out. And now he wants to give Regulus a Black burial."

Narcissa blinks rapidly."But he doesn't-"

"Regulus did. It was important to him."

Narcissa swings away, pacing the length of the cave with rapid feet.

"A Black burial," says Andromeda, as gentle as she can make her voice."Whether you choose our side or not, whether you decide to take a different path or not- I hope you'll come tomorrow."

"You don't know the rituals properly."

"I know enough."

"Andromeda-"

"Come," says Andromeda."For Regulus' sake, if not anyone else's. For the boy we both loved, and cared for too little to save. I hope you find heart enough within you to regret that. To make amends for what you could not offer him in life."

The last thing Andromeda sees before she apparates away is Narcissa's face: her blue eyes, her hopeless eyes. The color of a cloudless sky. The exact opposite of the sky above them. Her little sister.

Her little sister, who she can save.

...

Sirius lands on the packed dirt of a sea-salted hill. The earth crunches under his feet. He hisses out and hunches his shoulders. Stalks down to the edge of the water, where the foam turns the sand dark as his hair. It's a cold day. A cold morning. The sun hasn't set yet; the clouds swirl over the horizon.

There's a pop behind him.

Sirius turns, wand balanced in his palm, and spares a moment to swear even as he raises the wand.

"What the fuck, Andromeda?"

Andromeda swipes a lock of hair out of her face. She doesn't flinch at his threat. She doesn't move away from Narcissa.

"I told you I knew someone," she says calmly.

"Not her!"

"Sirius," says Andromeda, and she moves forward so swiftly he barely sees it- one moment she's ten feet away, and the next she's gripping his arm tight enough to cut into his skin. Her eyes look- grieved, and saddened, and harsh like the storm roiling over their heads."Regulus is dead. D'you understand that?"

"Of course I do," hisses Sirius."What the fuck,you know I-"

"Regulus is dead, but Narcissa isn't." Andromeda looks up at him, and there is something blazingly hopeful in the Black-planes of her face."My little sister is alive,Sirius."

"She's made her own goddamn choices," says Sirius flatly."Her- her husband, her parents- her sister- she'd stand by and watch youburn alive if-"

"My sister," says Andromeda."Or have you forgotten that?"

Then Narcissa steps up to her side, and she looks so different: Rosier coloring. Fair hair and pale eyes. But the gleam to her eyes and the set of her face sing out Black.

(Everyone always forgets Narcissa's temper.)

"I'm not here for you or her," she says flatly."I'm not here to be saved. But Regulus was a good man, and I loved him, and I wasn't there for him when he died. Giving him a Black funeral's the least I owe him. Let's finish that."

Sirius feels something wordless, nameless, rise in his throat. He considers, briefly, cutting it and ending this terrible farce. He's so fucking tired.

"Fine," he snaps instead, and turns on his heel, and calls for Kreacher.

...

Andromeda shivers as they land on the island. She feels Narcissa snake a hand through hers, soft and cold, as they step into the dark cave. She hears Sirius' muttering, the magic flaring around them like a snake with jaws large enough to swallow them whole. Sirius' wand flicks once, and Andromeda seesthe effect of their family magic on Voldemort's enchantments: one Inferius emerges out of the water and lands at their feet. It twitches once, full-bodied, before Sirius' magic breaks Voldemort's and releases that which made Regulus an Inferius.

He lies there instead, a corpse and nothing more.

Shaking, she steps forwards to see him. The red flame of the cave gives enough light to see Regulus. Just enough that she wishes it didn't.

There's nothing recognizable about him apart from the long hair. The fat has been sucked away; there's barely skin on his hollow face. It looks like a skull. Like someone's joke of a skull. But somehow, his eyes are intact. Grey and large and empty.

Narcissa gasps, preternaturally loud, at the sight.

Sirius isn't moving. He stares at Regulus, and doesn't look away.

It's his privilege to take the body away. He's Regulus' brother, and the Family Heredis,and it is his right and his duty to take Regulus' body to a place with clear skies so the stars can look down on their son. But he doesn't move for so long-long enough that Andromeda almost waves her wand to levitate Regulus' corpse instead. Sirius doesn't deserve this kind of quiet, wrenching pain.

She cannot see Sirius' expression, and she's thankful for it: if there's one thing that could break Andromeda, it would be seeing Sirius, who's never managed to hide one emotion in his entire life.

Then he inhales, rattling, and leans down. Cradles Regulus' sodden hair, his skin-stripped skull, and lifts him up into his arms like Regulus is- was- a child.

"Come on," he says roughly.

...

The sky is dark now, the stars hanging over them like ground diamonds. Sirius climbs over the ragged stone until he comes to a relatively flat surface. He lays Regulus down with infinite tenderness, unsure of where it's even coming from: he's never been a particularly soft man, nor a kind man, and war has taken even the vestiges of those traits from him. But Regulus' body feels like a bird's, all bone and feather and weight from water. Like something precious. Like something lost, and found, and shattered.

His own chest feels hollow.

He kneels over Regulus. Those awful eyes look back at him, grey and familiar like a blade. Sirius touches one, the soft skin over it. He thinks he'd give anything in the entire world if someone would just close them for him.

Distantly, he realizes that he's making a sound: something ululating and raw. He hates it, and himself, and Regulus, too, of course, because there have only been a handful of times in his life that Sirius hasn't hated Regulus, and he can scarcely remember how that would feel.

Andromeda catches him. Draws him up against her, arms warm and warm and warm, endlessly. She's shushing him, rocking him. It would feel comforting, but only to someone who'd experienced it before; all that Sirius remembers of weeping like this as a child is the white-hot firewhip of pain down his back, across his jaw, wrapped around a wrist.

He drops his forehead to her shoulder. Digs his hand into the skin of her spine.

"He," he says, and his voice scrapes like a scalpel across his throat."He. He-"

"Yes," whispers Andromeda. There are tears in her eyes as well; like the diamonds, like the stars. Grief in all its impossible permutations."I know, Sirius, I know. I know. My brother. Regulus. Oh, darling, I know."

He hunches downwards."I can't."

Andromeda's hand wraps around his wrist, and she runs a hand across his jaw. Down his spine. Where did you learn this kindness?thinks Sirius wildly, even as she soothes some old pain, some old fear. How did you-

Then he sees her gaze, and there is steel within it like a nut at the core of a sweet. Like iron in the heart of a star.

"Yes," she says implacably."You can. You must." Sirius shudders, and she brushes his tears away with the gentlest hands in the history of sisters."You wanted to give this to him, Sirius, to your brother. You will. You can, and you must, and you will,by all the vows you want me to swear."

"I can't."

"Then you are capable of even more than you believed."

Slowly, she steps away. Sirius closes his eyes. Searches for the strength to see Regulus again, like that: dead, cold, empty. It's so different, knowing he's dead and seeing it for himself.

It's so difficult.

But he is a Gryffindor and he is a Black and he is Sirius,at the end of it all. That means something. That means holding his promises. That means doing his duty. That means loving endlessly, impossibly. That means going to his brother's corpse and giving it the farewell it deserves.

"Okay," he says, swaying, and takes the elbow Andromeda gives him for balance."Let's get this over with."

...

They return, and Narcissa has done something. Her magic hangs over the sparse grass and stone like a twinkling blanket. Andromeda thinks her face looks strained; she wonders if Narcissa regrets coming. If she regrets seeing what her side is capable of. But then Sirius stumbles and nearly pulls her down, and when she looks at him to see what's wrong, his face is white.

The scent hits her next.

Dagga, sharp and aromatic. It weaves around her like it's one of her childhood summers. Neither Andromeda nor Sirius have ever been any good at conjuring, but Narcissa...

Andromeda blinks at her, and she shrugs stiffly."He liked Mum's greenhouses," says Narcissa quietly."Called it peaceful. When it all became- too much- for him, he'd come over. Stay in the greenhouses until he felt better." She bites her lip, voice turning formal."And that is my gift to him, for all the years I knew Regulus."

Sirius inhales sharply. He steps away from Andromeda, towards Regulus, and drops to his knees. Cards a hand through the hair.

Slowly, Andromeda takes out the locket she'd spent the previous days carving. A lion. A star. A dog. A snake. The whorl of a galaxy. The curve of a narcissus flower. Wands and magic and stone and darkness for all that Regulus was, is. For all of the people he'd loved. For all the people who loved him. Who love him.

A locket filled with a memory.

She lays it on his chest, and doesn't look away when the bright glow of the memory emerges out of the locket.

It is not a pensieve; it will not remain in the locket once played. The locket will play the memory once, and only once, and then it will be gone. It's nothing special, what Andromeda's chosen- just a summer afternoon, gold as butter and just as soft. Regulus shouting and laughing. The bounce of his hair; its hint of a curl. There are other memories that she might have chosen, of his quiet courage, of his soft, stolen kindnesses, of his determination. But this is what she chose in the end. Just the joy of childhood, unencumbered by any of the loss of growing up.

Only when it's finished does she realize that she's gripping Narcissa's hand again.

She looks to Sirius and sees that his face is tipped up, the golden cast of the memory shining on his face, illuminating the tears.

"That is my gift," says Andromeda, somehow keeping her voice from cracking."For the years I knew Regulus."

She closes her eyes and nearly sags from the relief.

Now it is Sirius' turn.

...

The light sears his eyes. He wants to sob with it, but he controls the gasps even if he cannot control the tears flowing down his face. Sirius has to speak for this part.

"I should have saved you," he says, and the words that had sounded bitter in his bedroom that morning are as soft as Andromeda's wrists, as Lily's hair, as Remus' skin. Sirius runs a hand through Regulus' hair and shudders in revulsion, even as he cannot make himself stop."I will never forgive myself for not being there for you when you needed me. If you'd just asked-" the anger crests, ebbs, a hot ember that is carried away by the tide of his words."But I didn't make you feel welcome for that.

"I have no flowers for your grave or memories of joyous times long past. I was not there for you; I cannot undo that. But." Sirius looks up, skitters his gaze past Andromeda and Narcissa to look at the stars above them. Their forefathers, who he's hated for so fucking long."Vengeance, Regulus."

He doesn't think. It's almost mindless, a dream coming to the inevitable conclusion. A wand pressed against his elbow, a spell murmured in the depths of his mind. The stinging heat of blood spilling out.

"I can offer you vengeance, by my wand to the man who did this," whispers Sirius."I assure you: when the stars again shine like this, he will be dead. Blood for blood. Grief for grief. In a year's time: He willdie."

He gets up, and the stars swim all around him- pinpricks of light dotting the sky, the sea, his vision.

He ignores it all.

"From the stars we came," Sirius grits out, and raises his wand, blood still dripping down his arm. He thinks Narcissa and Andromeda are echoing him, but he doesn't pause. This is his,his brother, his ritual, his choice."To the stars do we go. Come to see your son now! The regal Regulus! My brother who was Heir and beloved! Hang him in the stars as a hero of old and let the world never forget what he was!"

"Come down," cries Narcissa from behind him, Andromeda to his side."And retrieve him, and let him rest in peace for the rest of his days!"

Silver light darts down. Wraps around Regulus. Sirius staggers but keeps to his feet, and he sees through the blinding brilliance: Regulus made whole. The pared-away flesh filled out. The eyes given brightness. The glittering drape of the stars around his shoulders, like wings. His brother shifts, and looks at Sirius, and he raises a hand.

The light moves to Sirius and tugs at his wrist. For a moment, Sirius almost moves into its embrace- would have, if not for Andromeda's suddenly fierce grip on his shirt- and when it lets go, the wound on his arm is gone. It's replaced by a long white scar that freezes when he touches it.

He doesn't look away from Regulus. If this is the last time he sees his brother-

"I love you," says Sirius, the words taken from some deep, bone-deep part of himself."I love you. I'm so sorry. I love you."

The light grows brighter, and Sirius cannot see into it any longer, and he is crying, crying, crying, blind as a babe and unable to stop. His little brother,gone where he cannot see. Their last words to each other-

I know, Sirius.Words like music, like moonlight, like the wash of waves on stone. I love you too.

Sirius drops to his knees, and closes his eyes, and breathes through the twisted wreckage of his chest. He doesn't reach out. He knows what will be there if he does. Regulus is gone, now; gone for good. The words were more than anything Sirius could have ever hoped for. But if he reaches out and receives nothing, he will shatter.

The emptiness in him howls.

He hears through it, at a great distance, Andromeda:"Go home. Yes, he'll be fine. I'll talk to you later. Go."

And her arms, her shoulders, propping him up, guiding him back. The nausea of apparation. The darkness of Grimmauld Place. Remus' warmth. Lily's spells. James, white-lipped and pacing. Then darkness. Comforting, soft darkness.

...

In another world, Sirius dreams of blood and vengeance and the squeal of a rat caught between his teeth.

In this one, he dreams of stars.

...

Lily stares at Sirius' prone form. She turns to Andromeda and lifts an eyebrow.

"He'll be fine," she says. She looks far worse than just that morning; Andromeda's hair's unraveled out of its braid, and her eyes are red-rimmed. She's holding her wrist at an angle that implies some kind of injury- Lily isn't certain if it's a bruise or a sprain."It was the shock. The magic poured into him, from the rest of the family- and it was all on Sirius, not us." She shakes her head."It has an effect. He won't be able to use his magic for three days. Anything more complex will take longer."

"It flooded him," says Lily quietly.

Andromeda inclines her head."It's more than any of us can imagine. And of course, it wasn't just that. Seeing Regulus like that... it would have been enough to shake even the hardest-hearted witch."

"You don't look so good yourself."

"It's just shock," she says. Passes a hand over her face and looks, hopefully at Lily."But I don't suppose I could bother you for a Pepper-up?"

"Not an issue. Follow me to the library?"

Lily waves aside Andromeda's explanations and lets her into the room. Pours out a measure of Pepper-up, and tops it up with a gin so bitter it made her eyes water when she came across it last week. It's underhanded, but she suspects that Andromeda's exhaustion isn't so much of magical origins as it is shock and grief. And as selfish as it is, she cannot let her indulge in that grief. Not when in the middle of a war, particularly with time running away from them and their entire operation balanced on a knife's edge.

"You've brightened it," comments Andromeda, looking around the library with a slightly incredulous eye. She raises her hands when Lily glances back at her."It's a good change. Just one I never thought to see in Grimmauld Place, of all places on earth."

Lily hands her the goblet and settles back into an armchair opposite Andromeda."I couldn't see anything," she explains."Aesthetics and all are fine, but for the amount I was reading? I'd have gone blind sooner rather than later."

Andromeda sips the drink. She makes a face."You were reading a lot?"

"Amreading a lot."

"On identifying the-" Andromeda drops her voice to a whisper,"-horcruxes?"

"Yes." Lily sighs."It's not easy- I can develop the rituals without any issues, there's definitely enough resources on those- but I'm not sure about the runes; they aren't my specialty. And when I build the models, none of them work."

For a long moment, Andromeda doesn't respond. Then she leans forwards and catches Lily's eye. "What's the biggest issue you're facing right now?"

"Well." Lily pauses, marshals her thoughts."We need an anchor over the entirety of the island- I thought of using the ones that the Ministry sank almost four hundred years ago."

Andromeda's eyes narrow."The ones for the Age Line?"

"And accidental magic."

"You-Know-Who used them too."

"I know," says Lily grimly."It's where I got the idea from."

Slowly, Andromeda nods."So you're going to edit it," she says."Carve your own runes."

"Sink some of my own that work off of that magic," corrects Lily."Like a leech, almost. Directly affecting those anchors is too difficult, and too delicate. But a ward that basically uses that energy for our purposes? Easier. Far easier."

"Let me see the papers?"

"Accio," calls Lily, and catches the sheaf that spins out from the opposite part of the room.

She hands it over to Andromeda, who studies it with the wide-eyed deliberation of someone who isn't entirely functioning at a hundred percent. Lily busies herself with putting away the gin and locking the Pepper-up again.

"Hm- what element are you associating the anchors with?"

Lily turns. "Water," she says."The anchors were purified with water rituals, weren't they?"

"Not just water."

"That's not what the- there's a codex here-" Lily rifles through the stack of books that makes up her references and picks up a heavy book titled Codex of Elemental Magicks,"-that says it's just water."

"It would," says Andromeda, stretching back."That's what they all say. Ministry didn't want people knowing the truth, did they? And treating it as one element when it isn't usually makes things explode. Makes it easier to ferret out all of those dangerous people interfering with their constructions."

"Andromeda-"

"They're water and earth," she says, turning to look Lily in the eye."That's the issue you're facing. The anchors are made to have as little interference as possible- that's why they combined water and earth. Disrupting one is difficult enough; two braided together's all but impossible."

"The stability," says Lily faintly."No wonder it's lasted for four hundred years."

No recharging needed. No wonder magical Britain had survived Grindelwald and the World War with such ease: their borders had better security than a twenty-foot charged electrical fence. No wonder the rest of the world little wants to get involved with Britain, when it's so easy to portion them off and away.

Andromeda taps at the parchment where Lily's worked out her water-nullifying ritual."You'll need fire and air together for your runes, if you want it to act as a rider. Nullify the portion of it that specifies no external influence."

"It won't be possible," Lily whispers."Fire and air. Two elements? Rituals involving elements are volatile enough without adding two together. I've never even heard of someone who can do it."

Andromeda sets her cup aside, eyes glittering."You need someone who can use fire and air," she murmurs."Who can use fire and air to make a physical model of the anchors." Her cheeks are flushed, and she smiles at Lily, and something clicks in that moment: hot and fierce, like a rush of a river let free from a dam."I know someone."

...

"No."

"It's necessary."

"No.I hate her."

"Sirius."

"Not. Her."

"The last of the Infirres. We need her."

"She won't answer if she knows it's me!"

"She'll answer the Black Heredis."

"No."

"Sirius- it's the only way. Already we've lost too much time. Do you want to be the limiting factor? Once this gets done, we can find them."

"You swear it's the only way?"

"Yes!"

"I hate it."

"Sirius-"

"Fine. Do it. But don't expect me to like that I-don't-lie-at-allsmug bitch. Or to be polite to her."

"That, I'll never ask of you."

...

When the magical people of Britain desired to craft a Statute of Secrecy, the world hadn't known how it would work. They came up with a solution by building a magical barrier that spanned the northern-most island, the southern-most beach, the western-most mountain and the eastern-most forest. They sank four large anchors into the sea, carved of earth magic and hewn of water magic, and directed that magic into their Ministry of Magic.

There are rituals which hijack the magic of those runes and direct it elsewhere. It takes preparation and care. One mistake can ruin it all.

But Lily doesn't make mistakes.

...

Fotia Infirre emerges out of the fireplace with a sword in her hand and her hair like flame behind her. She's a tall woman; her eyes are like blue fire, bright and incandescent. The clothes she's wearing are simple, but neatly done. Lily tips her head back and watches her, carefully.

"Andromeda," says Fotia crisply. She turns to Sirius and nods to him, too, without a trace of the resentment Sirius has spent the last two days swearing exists. "Heredis."

"Infirre," says Lily."I cannot say how thankful I am that you came."

Something hardens in her expression."I could not refuse."

"What she means," says Sirius,"is that my ancestor bound her to our line. She must answer if the Heredisor the Lord calls."

"That was not all that Lycoris did to my family," says Fotia.

Andromeda reaches up and presses her fingers to Sirius' shoulder, presses him back into his chair."No," she says softly."No. That was not all. We ought to have protected you better. I am sorry for that."

"A truth curse," says Fotia bitterly."Everything that we'd given up for you and yours, and then you let Grindelwald kill us. From elder to mother to child. Until there was only me."

"Why would Grindelwald curse your family?" asks Lily.

Fotia looks at her directly, and Lily shivers."Because we were the only ones who could have broken through his wards."

Lily closes her eyes. Thinks through the implications.

The only family that could have broken through Grindelwald's wards. Grindelwald, who'd spent summers in Godric's Hollow, hearing all of Bathilda's old stories with a fervor that had left Bathilda suspicious even as she enjoyed telling them. Grindelwald, who'd left Britain and established a base for himself in a castle in the middle of a Balkan forest. A base that had a moat.

"He used water and earth anchors," she breathes."Like the ones around Britain."

Fotia inclines her head.

Lily clutches at the back of the chair. Breathes out. Says, "You can nullify anchor-based wards?"

"Only water-earth ones."

"How?"

"Air and fire," says Fotia."That is what we Infirres do."

"All magic is aligned with an element," interrupts Andromeda."Some are mixes of two. The oldest, greatest magical constructs had all four elements. But most have... fallen out of use recently."

Fotia laughs, high and sharp as a bird."Fallen out of use?" she asks."Have the decency to call it what it is."

Andromeda sighs."They were killed," she says."Slaughtered, all of them, after the anchors were sunk."

"Why?" asks Lily. She's thinking very hard. She can make out the edges of it; she thinks so, at least."It's only applicable for making magic stable. Runes. Wards. Spells have only a nominal adherence to the elements."

"Ah, but the Ministry doesn't like things being stable outside of its purview," says Sirius, kicking back in his chair."Or have you forgotten that, Lils? They don't like people knowing things that they think are dangerous. They don't like people making things they can't do. When you hear what they did to the Blowtons-" he shudders theatrically, and doesn't finish.

"They killed them," says Fotia flatly."Hired them to make the anchors, then drowned them all under the guise of a rogue magical wave. It was the Department of Mysteries according to some rumors, but we won't ever know for certain."

"And it doesn't matter now,"says Andromeda forcefully.

"No," says Sirius."It does." He's looking very hard at Fotia, for all that his posture's still insouciant."When Lycoris bound you to my family, you accepted because you felt that you had no choice. Because we'd protect you."

"We did protect them for more than three centuries!"

"Andy. They died."Sirius places his hands flat on the table and leans forward, and doesn't look away from Fotia's glittering blade or glowing eyes."And all we said was too fucking bad, we've got our own problems.Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"Yes," says Fotia softly.

"I'm the Heredis,and I'm formally relinquishing what's binding you to me. You and whatever heirs you might ever choose."

Fotia doesn't move for a long moment. Andromeda's gone white-faced and pinched-lip beside Sirius, which doesn't bode well. Lily considers keeping silent. It feels almost sacred, the soft cast to Sirius' face; the way Fotia's eyes look like dark, glowing pools of fire.

But they're fighting a war, and patience only means time for the other side to catch them.

"You're free now," she says, and holds out her hand to Fotia in a painfully muggle gesture."So. Here's to asking. Will you help us make those air-fire runes?"

Fotia blinks at her. Looks at Sirius. At Andromeda.

"The Blacks protected us for a long time," she muses."I still cannot tell a lie, Lady Lily, and that is because your friend's family abandoned mine to the wolves. Do you know what it does to you, to see your parents die before your eyes? To see them all perish, one after the other, simply because of the kindest lies- I'll be fine, I'll work with this, I love you.One after the other. Again and again. I buriedthem, and wept, and had to keep going. All alone." Fotia sweeps a hand over her hair, pushing a lock back."And you will still ask me to help you? Knowing all that I would have had if the Blacks had held to their vows? Knowing I am just now freed from mine?"

Lily bears up under the flood of words as well as she can, all rolling shoulders and flexing fingers.

"I am fighting a war," she says carefully."For the first time in- years- there are three sides to it. The Blacks hurt you, yes, but only through negligence. Tell me, Fotia, who put that curse on your family?"

"Grindelwald," murmurs Fotia.

"Precisely. Hehurt you. Hewas responsible for their deaths. And I am fighting against the man who would make Grindelwald's dreams reality once more, only harsher. Crueler. I am fighting- weare fighting- to ensure he doesn't continue his reign of terror. And I know you were wronged by the Blacks. But you aren't alone in that feeling- I'm muggleborn! A mudblood! My parents died at Death Eater hands because of me. Sirius- his parents threw him out of their house at sixteen. Andromeda ran away instead of marrying their handpicked Death Eater."

She leans forward, heart in her throat."Remus is a werewolf, and my husband's other best friend." Doesn't look away from Fotia's gaze, even when she feels scoured raw from it."Our world is broken. I have never, not once, not once,denied it. But if we turn away- if we ignore it- it won't get better. The only way to make it safer, to make it better: it's to do it ourselves."

"You cannot win this," says Fotia."His armies- have you seenthem? They will crush you. Without any second thoughts."

"I've faced him four times and survived each," replies Lily softly."I'm giving you the chance to fight back against all the things that have been taken from you. To give it to another generation. To make the world a better place than what you had."

She holds out her hand again, painfully muggle, proudly muggle. She is not Lily Evans, but she was once that. She is muggleborn. That blood runs through her veins, rich and muddy and dangerous. She is Lily Potter, and she will not lose what she was in favor of what she becomes. Not for anything.

Fotia draws herself up, tall, inscrutable.

Then she smiles.

"Yes," she says, and takes Lily's hand.

The contact zings through her palm like something electric, but hotter. Like candleflame, the blaze manageable and softening into comfort. Lily remembers James, who's so far away, who's in such danger; she remembers the way Harry would yawn when he first woke up from a nap; she remembers the glint of light across her father's wristwatch.

She loves them all so much. She has lost her parents, but she thinks: if I lose this too, I have lost it all. I cannot survive it.

But Fotia has. She's older than Lily; but not by much. Probably of an age with Andromeda. And she survived Grindelwald. She survived the death of her family. That's something- startling. That's something wonderful.

That's something so hopeful it feels like the blade in Fotia's hand has slid into Lily's chest.

...

James glares at the stone building. His heart pounds. Remus is beside him. The sun feels cold, despite being high in the sky. James had promised Lily that he'd be careful- but he's running on instinct, the kind that seizes him by the lapels, that leaves the rest of the world colorless. His wand's a hot line of electricity in his palm. The dream of Thor's axe rests on his shoulders like wings of fire.

"Ready?"

"Always," says Remus.

...

They don't enter by the front door. Instead, it's a tunnel that opens into a sewer in a muggle alley. Remus slithers in before James, his lean form easier maneuvered inside, and James follows with a flickering Notice-me-not thrown over the grate.

The goblins sent them a note three days previously, telling them to come to the dragon's lair. Sirius had told them not to use any of the normal dragon-detection tools; they did the job, but also tended to annoy the dragon. And if this was as James suspected, they'd need to keep the meeting as quiet as possible. No raging dragons. None of the classical dragon-detection techniques.

It's lucky they have Remus.

Werewolves' natural enemies aren't vampires, for all the popular canon otherwise. Vampires' largest habitations are in areas that the werewolves don't tend to inhabit, so they haven't developed any instincts against them.

No. Werewolves and dragons- they've spent thousands of years battling over the same territory. Thor rode into battle on the backs of dragons, lightning flashing around him to kill the werewolves. There's an instinctive, bone-deep hatred there.

Remus just has to go against the bristling reaction of his inner wolf to tell James the path to take.

It's dangerous; of course it is. James keeps his hand tight on Remus' shoulder, and doesn't dare to breathe too deep.

...

Fotia apparates them to a meadow full of fireflowers.

"Watch," she commands, and raises her sword, and the air splits apart with flame brighter than the sun, blinding.

...

They make the rendezvous, just. Remus jerks his hand out and forces James backwards before they step out into the actual cavern, and they stop. Catch their breaths against the stone wall. They've done their bit now: they've walked into the mouth of the lion's den.

They can only hope, now, that it'll work out.

We aren't mice, though,thinks James, and grins at Remus.

He's regretted three things in his life. None of it has made him happier or kinder or softer.

He grins at Remus, and feels alive,and thinks: if this is how I die, I don't regret it.

...

Fire dances around them. Fotia dances with it- leads it- guides it. The air chases it higher, damps it down. Lily tilts her head backwards. Watches it. Her hair whips around her, shining. The fireflowers burn brighter, and the air sings out. It is all held in control by Fotia Infirre: Fotia, whose hair sweeps behind her with the grace of black flame. Fotia, whose blade is brighter than anything Lily has seen in all her life.

The wind is so strong that Lily can scarcely see it all. She instead experiences it in glimpses, hidden by her own involuntary tears, by the twist of flame, by the blinding brilliance of Fotia's sword.

Eventually, she gives in and closes her eyes. Breathes out the smoke and inhales the flame and swallows until the prickle of pain from all the fire has disappeared into the haze of heat.

...

"Wizard."

"Goblin," says James, rising to his feet.

Remus has the better eyesight, which is why he's hanging just a little back. It's also why he's closer to the dragon. Quick reflexes, awful blood- if they're going to die in this mix-up, it's going to be a glorious death. If they aren't going to die- and James certainly doesn't intend to- well. With any luck the dragon'll be their ride out.

For a moment, the goblin doesn't speak. Then he says, softly,"Mr. Potter."

Warning prickles over James' skin."Who's asking?"

"I am," says the goblin."You may call me Brakshal. I- we had not expected your response to be like this."

"Then how'd you expect it?" asks James, genuinely curious.

The goblins sent him a letter asking for his attendance at a meeting in the dragon's lair, five days' hence. But James has learned that often, the things that people don't do say their position even clearer than what they purposefully show off. The letter wasn't on Gringotts cardstock. The delivery hadn't asked for a response- however they got it into Grimmauld Place, the method had disappeared long before James saw the letter. This goblin in front of him looks ragged at the edges, like cheese just slightly softened by a few minutes in the sun.

"You didn't expect a response," he says, half-guessing. He knows it to be wrong before he even finishes the sentence."No, you didn't think-"

"James," murmurs Remus, and James shuts up immediately.

Remus sounds like he's got a mouthful of iron nails. Careful, and desperate not to cut his tongue open, and worried beneath that like a roaring river. He's looking at something that Brakshal is wearing, some shiny thing affixed to his chest.

"If your plan was to kill us-"

"James."

"What!"

"When did he come after you?" Remus asks Brakshal, voice abruptly gentle."Brakshal, right? When'd he come here?"

Brakshal lifts his head, just a little."Last week," he says, and it sounds-

Furious.

James stills. Looks at Remus. Back at Brakshal. Fuck,he thinks. They'd known there was a reason for the goblins to want help. To even ask for assistance. But nothing like this.

"How many?" asks Remus, and he still sounds heartrendingly gentle.

"The Third and Fourth clans are gone. The First... has enough for us to maintain some of the mining operations. The Second is almost all alive." He swallows."So many. Too many." Brakshal makes a grating sound, and Remus' hand spasms on James' shoulder.

"The diamonds turned to rubies," he hisses in James' ear."That's the general translation. Blood on the- oh, Merlin, James-"

"Yeah," James mutters back."I get it. We're fucked."

"No-"

He turns back to Brakshal."Why us, then?" he asks."Dumbledore's in Hogwarts. He's got the ability to actually help."

"Do you know what they called Potters?" asks Brakshal.

James slides a look towards Remus, who's looking just as puzzled. "No."

The goblin smiles, sharp-toothed. He looks bitter. "Your ancestor brought our oldest shielding spells down and arranged an army around the entrance three centuries ago. Where Sheridan Potter walked, sunlight followed. And she did not stop until she entered Gringotts."

"Master Brakshal-"

"Lord Potter," says the goblin, flatly. "Goblins have long memories, written out in metal. And your wifebrought light to our home, for the first time in three long centuries. Even the Dark Lord did not commit such sacrilege."

James stiffens. He thinks he can hear the dragon stirring. His hand closes over his wand, hidden in his pocket. He considers, briefly, denying it; but Remus' hand tightens again on his shoulder. And the warning in that grip gets James back on track.

"I can... get you an apology," says James slowly. "I am indeed sorry that she committed such sacrilege in your halls."

Brakshal's face tightens. "If we'd wanted an apology, we would have demanded one. Or extracted one from your vaults. No- that doesn't matter. It takes a year of babbling to match one breath of steel, Lord Potter. It is your actions that are important now."

"What actions?" asks James.

"Your wife brought light to our home, but the Dark Lord brought death," says Brakshal lowly. "He called our leaders into your ministry last week and demanded we hand over sovereignty, and when we refused- he killed us, and kept killing us, until he came to a goblin gutless enough to surrender."

His voice is dispassionate, but the expression that James can make out in the dim light- it's infuriated.

No,thinks James. No, this is- how I felt. When I realized our home had been taken from us. When I realized how unsafe the world can be.

"He killedthem," says Brakshal."One after the other, until all that remains of those Clans is those too weak or too afraid to stand up to him. Do you even know how long we've been independent? Do you even know what we have lost in this past week?"

"I can imagine," says James softly.

"No, you cannot." Brakshal straightens, proud and stiff."You do not even know what the Potters are called. But it matters not. Your wife did not know what she was doing when she came here, but she was doing as Potters have done for centuries.So I am here to barter with you. Give us his head. The Dark Lord's head. Swear to us you will kill him, and you will do it soon, and offer us his head as a trophy. Swear to us that you will fight for that."

"And in return?" asks Remus.

Brakshal's teeth glint in the darkness."There is a vault which I believe you might have some interest in."

"A... vault?"

"I am a miner. That is what I shall do until my dying day. And sometimes, mines go perilously close to vaults. Particularly the deepest ones." James looks into Brakshal's eyes, and feels his mouth dry at the implications."The ones with the highest security."

Remus still sounds calm. Too calm for James' taste."That won't go against any of your oaths?"

"I'm a miner," repeats Brakshal."Not a banker." He hesitates for a moment, then adds:"The first vow we swear is to our family, then to clan, then to the nation. Only later do the oaths of loyalty to our leaders come. Too many of us have forgotten that- but it matters not. It will change. Once the Dark Lord has been defeated."

James frowns, the words niggling in his head. Too many of us."You didn't tell me why you chose us."

"We learned Lord and Lady Potter still lived when our blood records didn't display your deaths," says Brakshal slowly."We only started to suspect when Lord Black changed his formal will to someone who wasn't supposed to inherit anything. But then. We saw, those of us with eyes to see and brains to match, and we knew we had to act.

"We call you Light-Bringer,Lord Potter. Where Sheridan Potter walked, light followed. Not just light but Light- that magic which has been in Britain for so many millennia. Where all of you walk, where you go, you bring Light with you. It is sunken into your blood." Brakshal clicks his tongue."And we have seen what the Dark does to us."

"Fear can only take any agreement so far," says Remus neutrally.

Brakshal inclines his head."We have our own scryers," he says quietly."They don't see enough, but sometimes... with the right questions...A Potter Lord with a Black Heredisat his side, a muggleborn wife, a werewolf at his side- you are young,all of you, but youth has never made anyone unworthy." There is, beneath the anger and fear, a flash of something that makes James feel very small, and very proud, and deeply, entirely, confused at it."The breath of air you promise- the change you bring by just existing- we can see it, for those of us with eyes. And we won't let such a chance pass us by."

"Light-bringer?" asks James, strangled. He considers reaching for Thor's axe, but discards it. Thinks instead, and comes to another conclusion, one that sits in his belly like a cold stone: "We're going to have to come back."

"Lord Potter-"

"Give me a week," says James urgently."Give us a week. Keep your heads down. Don't die. I can-"

"James," says Remus. James turns to him, and sees the pale, set look on Remus' face."Swear to him. Swear to him that you'll give him You-Know-Who's head. We'll do an Unbreakable Vow, if you want."

Brakshal recoils."That won't be necessary."

Goblins don't swear by their magic. They haven't done so since wizards took their wands away and their magic went into stone and became nearly dormant. But no matter what else happens, their blood is magical. They don't swear by what they cannot have; they swear by-

"It won't," agrees James."A Blood Vow, then?"

Brakshal stares. So does Remus.

Blood Vows are oldmagic. The Unbreakable Vow kills people who break it by turning their own magic against themselves. The old stories say they were developed to make Blood Vows more civilized.

Because Blood Vows don't just kill oathbreakers. They turn their very blood to liquid metal. And they do it slowly.

It's a painful death.

It's also easier to swear. No third parties necessary; just two people and a bowl. James thinks back to old history lessons in his family home, and transfigures a copper bowl out of a piece of stone. Lays it on the earth, and kneels over it.

"Lord Potter," whispers Brakshal.

James presses his wand to the inside of his elbow. Two days previously, he saw the white, winding scar on Sirius' elbow. It feels right to let it match.

"I will work to kill the Dark Lord," he says."I will do it until either he or I is dead. And when he dies, I will give you, Brakshal of Gringotts, his head, as bloodprice for the grief he has rent among you and yours. I swear thus, by the iron in my veins."

He runs his wand down, and feels the burn of split skin as he does. James lets it puddle into the bowl, unflinching. Remus hisses out but doesn't react beyond it. Brakshal waits until the bowl is half-full, then he reaches out and picks it up. Tips it back and swallows.

"May the iron swallow you if you break it," he croaks.

James vanishes the bowl and stands. He sways. Too much blood loss- but for a worthy cause, he thinks dryly, and settles with Remus' hand pressed up against his spine. Brakshal looks away, then back. Slowly, he holds out a hand for James, and there is something shining in the middle of his palm, dark but glittering.

"Take it," he says."It is a Portkey to here. I have no wish for you to come across anyone else before we finish our bargain- this will bring you here, to this corridor."

Remus huffs out a laugh."I knew you'd gone rogue."

"We all do what must be done." Brakshal shrugs."Goblins do not like dragons either. Only madmen would come this close to one without reason. And to defeat a Dark Lord- one who holds the government, one on the very precipice of complete victory- you need madmen."

"So it wasa test."

"You passed."

"But you can promise us the vault?" asks James.

Brakshal smiles, for the first time since James has met him.

"Yes," he says, so unshakeable it sounds like all of Gringotts could fall apart around him and he'd still know the answer.

There is another vow here, now; one that James could accept, one that sings out like glittering strands. He only bows his head. Steps back, and feels Remus sling a warm arm around his waist, and lets the Portkey's magic gather them back to outside Gringotts.

"One week," he says, firmly, before it all become a blur.

...

Fotia stops, and the world stops with her.

Lily breathes out what feels like her first full breath in too long. Andromeda looks almost unaffected, but Sirius is white-faced and his shoulders are hunched about up to his ears. The flame Fotia'd harnessed fades into the air without any of her magic supporting it, and what remains are four stones. They're clear as crystals, save for when Lily hefts one and holds it up to the sky: they shine, glittering sparks of red and white and a thousand other shades seen in flame and air.

"It's done, then," she breathes. Her voice sounds strange to her own ears.

Fotia inclines her head. Her hair looks further tangled; her eyes glitter a shade too bright.

"Use it well," she says, and her voice is as stiff as it's been ever since Lily first met her. She turns to Sirius."Our business is at an end, Black. My family's and yours. If you ever call for me again-"

"-you won't answer," finishes Sirius."I understand."

"Good," says Fotia, and spins on her heel, cracking away.

Andromeda immediately moves to support Sirius, who sags as soon as Fotia disappears. The sickly edge to his skin makes him look small; Lily gathers the crystals carefully and waves wordlessly for Andromeda to side-apparate Sirius back to Grimmauld Place.

Andromeda nods. She disapparates. And then there's nothing around Lily but the silent, glittering feel of rich, old magic ringing through the air.

She lets herself marvel at it.

She lets herself wantit. Lily loves this feeling; craves this history, this weight and tradition and power. It isn't her inheritance, but it's what she's built her life around. Wards. Rituals. The oldest kind, made of sheer want and desire and the curve of a blade.

She lets herself revel in it for one breath longer, and then she apparates away.

...

"Remus, could you come to the library with me?"

Remus jerks his head up, startled. So does James, eyes narrowing on Lily. She raises her eyebrows back.

"Hiding things?" asks James.

"Your birthday present," says Lily sweetly. James scoffs, and she rolls her eyes."There's a lunar aspect I read about that can stabilize the runic array. I thought I'd get Remus' advice on it, seeing as he's been mildly obsessed with astronomy since first year."

"Mildly obsessed is an exaggeration," mutters James.

"Not everything has to do with you, love," says Lily, and leans down to press a kiss to his hair before meeting Remus' gaze and nodding to the door.

A little more excited now, Remus follows Lily to the library. He enters it for the first time since she remodeled it- the increase in light does wonders for reducing the gothic edges the Blacks had spent years instituting, and Remus thinks briefly about how much Walburga Black would've hated it.

Then there's a sharp feeling across the back of his neck, and Remus turns, predatory instincts flaring, wand sliding into his palm.

Lily has her wand up. The ward she's just constructed glows around them, gold and bright as honey. Remus hisses out through his teeth, and Lily lowers her wand slowly, eyes gleaming.

"This is about James," she says.

Resignation sweeps over Remus' head, mixed liberally with disappointment. But he looks at Lily, and he sighs, and he wishes he could be surprised about it.

...

Remus pauses. He looks so tired. Lily can understand; she feels the same way. It's such a surprising realization: fear is exhausting, more than it is terrifying. When she and James went into hiding a year and a half ago, it'd been exciting, up until it wasn't. When Voldemort came to their home- Lily's never been quite so frightened. She's never known this kind of high-level, mind-numbing terror for sucha long time, and she suspects that it's taking its toll on all of them.

After this,she promises herself, and allows herself to think about that idea- surviving to the end, surviving pastthe end- we'll go somewhere else. Somewhere warm. And learn to relax.

He's still waiting, though. Remus' hair is all but bristling with latent, suppressed aggression. Lily forces herself to keep herself calm, to keep her spine loose and her gaze steady.

"He's gotten reckless," she says quietly.

"He was always reckless."

"Not like this," says Lily.

She remembers the fear she'd felt when James told her about the Blood Vow. These are not risks they can afford, and James doesn't understand.Lily's not a stranger to risks such as those; she's taken her fair share, walked straight into traps and trusted in the sharp edge of her wand and the fury in her gut to carry her out. But she hasn't trusted in strangers to keep her alive before. She hasn't trusted goblins who are knownfor double-crossing and distrust of wizards. She isn't stupid enough to try to win a war this way.

"Tell me I'm imagining it," she says lowly, the tension hiking up in her voice."Tell me I'm imaginingthis, and I'll leave it alone. Believe me, Remus, I've got more than enough on my plate to deal with."

Remus' eyes look away, one half-flick to the side, and Lily has her answer.

She reaches out and brushes a finger gently over the inside of his wrist. Gentleness is Remus' downfall, as it is Sirius', though Remus isn't far gone enough to consider any kindnesses as apologies. It hones him instead- makes him focus, reminds him of all that they've sacrificed, puts to mind all that they've yet to lose.

"You're not," he says hoarsely."Not. You know. Entirely."

"A vow," says Lily, and can scarcely keep the shrill note of terror out of her voice."A Blood Vow! To a goblin!"

"Well," Remus points out."He's already fighting for it. Defeating You-Know-Who, I mean. Doesn't make it worse than- Sirius swearing to his grandfather, not-"

"Except his grandfather was fucking holding Sirius over a cliff!" says Lily, drawing away and grabbing at the back of the settee near her, feeling for the sharp edges and holding on tight. She feels adrift these days, like she's barely surviving each wave cresting over her head before the next one carries stinging salt into her eyes, into her lungs. Lily breathes in, and moderates her voice as best she can."And the only thing James seems to know to deal with cliffs is to throw himself off of them."

"That's not fair."

"It is completely fair, and you know it," says Lily tiredly."I don't care. That axe- it's making him worse. And I can't tell him to calm down, or to not use it, or to stay away from the front lines of this fucking war.Not while we're the de facto leaders. Not while Harry needs us."

Remus sags, and slides into the chair opposite her."So what do you need from me?"

"I need you to keep him alive."

"I'm not going to lethim die!"

"Good," says Lily savagely, and relishes in the aborted flinch across Remus' shoulders."Stick with him. That's what you do, better than any of us."

It's true; Remus is brilliant at quickfire volleys while James has the regimented discipline of an auror. They've taken down more than their fair share of Death Eaters. And James suffers the same thing most of the male Order members are afflicted with: they keep Lily away from the worst of the battle without any conscious thought, while running into the thick of it themselves. She won't be there when James gets caught in a battle, and she's willing to bet that Sirius won't be there either. Not when Sirius has enough charisma to lead his own front of the war.

Lily knows this.

Remus knows this.

Plan for what you can,thinks Lily, dryly amused. Screw what you cannot.

"And when you think he's taken on too much," she whispers, leaning forward,"send him to safety."

Remus stares at the stone Lily's pressed into his hand. It's a fascinating color- black, or at least a very dark green, with flecks of gold and glittering blue turning it iridescent. A small stone, but it thrums with power.

"What is this?"

"A portkey." Lily hesitates."Well. Sort of."

Remus looks up at her, and there's faint amusement in his eyes."What is it?" he repeats.

"I took it from the ring James destroyed," Lily tells him. Reaches out and flips it over, and shows him the symbol carved on the other side: a bisected triangle with an inscribed circle."There's something there about Hallows if you research the symbol, but I don't think it matters. There was latent magic in the stone, and James' lightning supercharged it. In a way. And the piece of soul left in there? Disintegrated inside the stone."

"So you harnessed it," murmurs Remus.

"It'll break through any portkey ward you can imagine. Including Hogwarts. Once, and only for him, but. Once should be enough. Take him straight to a small cottage in Cornwall."

"And you're giving it to me?"

"James won't use it," says Lily."Have you methim? He'll stay until all of us are dead or worse, and won't once think of himself."

She won't survive losing him. She can lose everything else, all else, but not this. Not James.

It's her line in the sand.

(When Lily first signed up to the Order, Dorcas Meadowes had taken her aside.Pressed a hand to her shoulder. Said, softly,"They'll give you information on surviving Death Eater prisons next week."

"I," Lily had replied."Um. Okay?"

"What you need to know about that," said Dorcas,"is that it's done with purebloods in mind. Pureblood men. It won't help you."

Lily had looked up at Dorcas' haunted eyes, at Dorcas' firmed lips, her low-lying, immoveable stance."Oh," she'd said."What should it say then?"

Something had twitched in Dorcas' face. It haunts Lily even now, that instinctive, unsuppressable reflex, like a fish flopping on the ground, airless and desperate.

She'd said, hand bruising on Lily's shoulder:"Don't get caught. And if you do: die, first. Because you aren't worth anything to them at all, and they know it, and you aren't going to trust in their mercy." She hadn't looked directly at Lily but through her, and her gaze had burned like ants' venom."They aren't going to give you any."

"If it's so dangerous- if I'm so fucking small- why does it-"

"Matter?" Dorcas stepped away."I'm here'cause I'm done,girl. With their idiocy. With their cruelty. We survive on the dregs of their society, where they've got it all fucking made, and we're glad for it because it's magical.Well. Fuck that. If they want to silence you, make them fight for it. If they want to kill you, make them fucking die first."

She'd died two years later, because Voldemort burned down an orphanage near Islington and she'd chased after him instead of waiting for backup. Dorcas Meadowes died that night with her wand in hand, her eyes lifted to the sky, and, Lily was certain, of the empty belladonna vial she'd found in her robes, not at Voldemort's hand. No matter how many people told her otherwise.

Dorcas' line in the sand killed her.

And now, years later, almost too late, Lily's found hers.)

"He won't forgive you," says Remus softly."He won't forgive us."

James had fucked her that night, and he'd thought the bruises left on her shoulder were of his making. Lily hadn't told him they came from Dorcas. Lily'd accepted his kisses, his apologies, and she'd shut her eyes tight against the memory of a muggleborn witch desperate to keep another from believing in a better world than was out there.

"I don't care," replies Lily."I'd rather he hate me than die because of me. And I know you feel the same."

The ugly part of herself and Remus, where they'd both rather die for their love than live against it. They're selfish at their cores, harsh in the places where brightness sits in James and Sirius. They're the same, the two of them, the werewolf and the muggleborn. The prefect and the Head Girl. The people who did not choose this war, but chose to fight in it.

They know, intrinsically, what's at stake here.

"Our secret," sighs Remus.

Lily reaches out and closes her palm over his. Holds him tight.

"Keep him safe," she says, and orders, and weaves hope into reality.

...

"You're certain?"

"Everything's ready," agrees Lily.

Sirius nods. James rolls his shoulders. Remus smiles, sharp and thin as a rapier.

Lily inclines her head."Keep the timers at the ready. Everything hasto be perfectly coordinated. And if it doesn't work... apparate away. Fast."

"Before it all explodes," says Sirius.

James lets out a sharp bark of laughter, and nods. Lily grins. Remus reaches out, and they hold each other, all four of them. Alone and together, as it's been since Voldemort broke their home. Leaning on each other to survive to morning. They've got a chance to deal a blow to Voldemort, and by all the gods James is going to takeit.

"Good luck," says James, and they back away from each other, and apparate out to their respective places.

...

Sirius' element is water, on account of his familial inheritance. The location for his ritual is a tiny rock in the middle of the Channel Islands, just barely large enough that he doesn't need to worry about slipping off of it. The waves keep washing over his boots; he hisses out when the salt tries to cake on the dragonskin etchings.

Slowly, he loops out the weighty crystal Fotia crafted. There's five of them now: one to each of them, and one to ground the entire ritual. There's careful runes carved on these crystals made by Lily's hands. They depress against his skin.

"Here goes nothing," Sirius mutters, and lets his magic flow out into the waves washing around him.

...

Remus' element is earth, also on account of his family inheritance. He's in a hollow made by a tree's roots, the earth damp and breathing as it surrounds him.

"Fucking Suffolk," he grits out, wiping the streak of mud off his forehead.

The crystal is warm and vibrating very gently in his palm. Remus focuses hard on it, pushes his magic, and the earth rises to his call like a blanket pulled by his fingers.

...

James' element is the air, because he loves flying more than any of them.

He's shivering, frosted over and wind howling, on the top of a mountain somewhere in the Hebrides. Then he reaches for the crystal and grips it tight, and lets his magic out in an uncontrolled wash instead of the sharp edges of wand-magic, and feels the wind sing above his head.

...

Lily's in Scotland.

Her element is flame, because she is a Gryffindor, because she is of flame, because she has a fire blazing somewhere deep in her ribs of fear and fury and love hot enough to burn the world down. The crystal is shining in her hands like a star. Her hair dances in the wind, and she releases the dam on her magic, and flame winks into being around her like a thousand birds with wings afire.

...

It's twilight. Remus hears the timer go, and he pushes his magic, the earth's magic, into the crystal.

As full as full can be,he thinks, and hears, and says, and wishes. As full as full, and no further. The earth is mine and I am hers, and this is what I wish.

...

It's twilight.

James' wind comes at the crook of his fingers. Wraps around the crystal. Sinks in.

Until you're about to burst,he thinks, and hears, and says, and wishes. Until then, and not one more breath. You come when I call, and this is what I demand.

...

It's twilight. Lily's flame is hot around her like a volcano on the cusp of exploding. Magma to lava. In to out. The crystal shines, brighter and brighter still.

Long enough to burn the impurity away,she thinks, and hears, and says, and wishes. Long enough, and no longer. Do as I say, and this is what I want.

...

It's twilight, and Sirius is surrounded by water.

Brimming with it,he thinks, and hears, and says, and wishes. So that you're brimming with this power, but not one drop more. Let it be so, for this is what I need.

...

It's just past twilight, and they see the crystals start to shake. They can see the vibrations. They can something growing in the middle, a vision so lovely it brands itself into their minds. It cannot be unseen.

(Magic always wishes to grow, and they've given it the best possible place to grow. But they need the magic to obey,for any other kind of magic is dangerous. Is cruel, and cold, and will grow deadly if left unchecked.)

They wait.

This must be done together. All at once, or not at all.They must trust, and have faith.

And when the time comes, they must break the most beautiful thing their minds can imagine.

To complete the ritual, they must destroy it.

...

The sky is dark, and Remus' fingers are twitching. He cannot look away, and he cannot bear to let the magic drop away either. He sees something lovely, warm, softer than any dream and gentle as a misting rain. What he can never have.

Sunlight. Laughter. Warmth.

Sirius' head thrown back. The lines of his neck. The dip of his collarbone, down and then up, like the faintest half of an infinity symbol. His skin.

His rage.

The vision turns to fire, and Remus' fingers curl into fists, and the earth swallows the crystal whole.

...

The moon shines down on Lily, and her gaze is fractured by the vision of something lovely, the tears in her eyes standing out. She sees herself, standing above all others, bright and beautiful and adored.

So loved.

So lonely.

So lost.

The vision washes away, and she breathes out fire that chars the crystal to ash.

...

Sirius' ancestors smile at him from the distant stars. He thinks he can hear Regulus. It's all he sees in the crystal: family, all the families he's had, all the families he's wanted, all the families he's never thought to hope for and has received.

James, and Lily, and Remus-

Remus-

Their hands on his back, their fists on his lapels, their love, their grief, their kindness, their fear, their strength, strength, strength-

The image blows into dust. Sirius cries out, and the ocean crashes down on him, on the crystal, drowns them both.

...

James is close enough to touch the stars, and all he can see is what he's lost in the world. Harry, leaping in a field, unafraid. Lily, laughing without worrylines carved into her face. Sirius and Remus and the Order and the Wizarding World and the whole damn universe-

Unafraid. Bright.

His father's voice:start small, Jimmy, and build your way up.

A hand sweeping up, and showing him Potter Manor. All the four hundred floors, all the clouds wrapping around the highest levels.This is what you are and this is what you have and this is what you can become. Responsibility and awe, intertwined. Fear and determination.

The clasp of Lily's hand on his. The warmth of Harry's sleeping blankets. Sirius' bright eyes. Remus' tea.

Start small, and shift the world in ways nobody realizes until long past you've finished.

Start small and build your way up.

The image disappears. James grins up at the sky, tears streaming down his face, and yells as loud as he can.

The wind howls in response.It grabs his crystal straight out of his palms and hurls it against the mountainside, and he watches it shatter into a thousand pieces of glittering glass.

He feels the magic of the ritual snap into place like a taut rope just beyond his reach, and slips to his knees with mountan-air jagged and freezing in his lungs.

...

They're draped over pieces of furniture, too tired to move. Andromeda's said she'll come in the morning to feed them some potions and get them up and running again, but for now it's just the four of them, tired and soft and together in a dark room in Grimmauld Place.

Finally, Sirius drags himself upright and moves to the map of Britain, which contains the results of whatever they've done with the ritual. The fifth crystal is the focal point of the entire thing, and it's projecting its magic onto the map Lily'd put up. He squints at the sheet, and then he swallows, hard, stumbling back.

"You recognize it?" asks Lily.

"One's in Gringotts," he says."Another's in Hogwarts."

They'd planned for that. Those two places make sense. But they don't have time to research Voldemort's history, to make a list of where he might have put all of his other horcruxes. They don't even know how many horcruxes there are.

Sirius feels Remus' hand on his wrist, his breath on his shoulder as he steps up beside him to peer at the map.

"That's- Wiltshire," says Remus.

"Wiltshire?" asks Lily, bewildered."What's in fucking Wiltshire?"

Sirius drops his face to his hands. Exhales. Rises. "Malfoy Manor," he says. Turns, and meets James' bruised eyes, Lily's exhausted face. Remus' steadfast gaze. Doesn't look away. "Malfoy Manor is there. Not another Wizarding community in sight. I'll bet you anything- it's in that house."

"Andromeda's not going to like that," says Remus.

Sirius huffs a laugh.

Andy wants to save her sister? Her sister's been harboring a part of Voldemort's soul in her home for Merlin knows how long. It's the Black tragedy, isn't it, to have everything they've ever wanted and losing it all to circumstances just an inch out of reach. The farce of it. The terrible, mocking tragedy.

Fuck this,thinks Sirius, and is a very mature adult as he walks away without cursing anything at all.

about the dark times

Chapter Summary

I have already killed people in this war. You will know her, I think: Bellatrix Lestrange. My husband has not; Sirius has not; Andromeda has not. If there have been any deaths on your side, they have been accidents, for we've never aimed to do anything other than injure.

That was a mistake.

I have learned that now.

Chapter Notes

Hello y'all! Here we are, at the end of an absolutely wonderful journey! To everyone who liked, commented, recced, kudo'd: thank you! You make the world keep going, you're my inspo, love you loads.

Now. Some housekeeping notes, just to, ah, remind some readers because it's been... a while:

- If something isn't mentioned in the books, it's fair game. Which is to say Pottermore details are not canon as far as I'm concerned, particularly birth dates. Sirius Black as a Scorpio? Nope, not happening.
- Yes. This matters. I promise.
- James has used Thor's axe twice before: once to destroy the ring horcrux and once to fly from Azkaban.
- Lily's death in canon and her subsequent protection of Harry is dependent on two things: one, Voldemort giving her the chance to step aside; two, Lily's willingness to die for Harry. But she doesn't need todiefor her protection to hold. Just fyi.
- There are four goblin clans in this story, and each has a different"area of interest" and any disdain can be assumed to be a character bias rather than anything else.
- Chapter titles put together are the poem:"In the dark times will there be singing? Yes, there will be singing about the dark times."
- "Justice, not vengeance," is Simon Wiesenthal's book that is... vv good, everyone go read it as soon as you finish this chapter!
- I'm sure you've all seen it coming, but loads of plot twists in this chapter so, um, hold onto your pants I guess
-I did not know if everyone would survive until I reached the final scene, but imo everyone's suffered enough (including you and me and every hp character anw, lmao) and I'm a sucker for happy endings, so guess we'll stick to it
- Final quote is from Margaret Mead

Hope y'all enjoy!

The thing is-

The thingis, that James would indulge Sirius in almost any other scenario. But they've had two days of rest and planning, and they don't have anymore time to spend for Sirius' groaning or moaning. And they have to leave today, because that's their scheduled meet-up.

"Stay safe," whispers Lily, hands tight around James' neck.

Her eyes are green-gold, shining in the sunlight, and James thinks he'd die with that vision than any other. Her face is so fucking lovely. He leans in, breathes deep, and pulls away only when she does.

"We will," he says.

Lily nods, and turns to Remus. "Stay safe,"she repeats.

"'Course," says Remus, but he looks oddly shaken.

Sirius grunts something from the cup of cocoa he's chosen to hide behind. Lily shoves his chair, and he flails wildly before landing hard enough for the wooden legs to crunch. He sends Lily a dirty look; she ignores him. Then he heaves a sigh and looks at Remus.

"If you don't come back," he says pleasantly, "I'll fucking gut you, and then I'll gut the goblin, and then I'll gut half the wizards and witches in Britain because it'll take at least that amount of time for Lily to catch up to my motorcycle."

Lily rolls her eyes. "So if you want to save the Wizarding world, you'll come back."

James grins at her, and leans down to kiss her- once, a press of lips to lips, skin to skin. He can't quite resist the desire to keep doing it, but then Lily steps away from him, and she looks like a star has swallowed her whole. She looks like she's glowing.

"Come back to me, Jimmy," she murmurs, and how could James refuse that?

He nods.

Steps around, and clasps Sirius' elbow. Lays his own white, winding scar over Sirius'; all the vows they've taken, all the things they've put up as they're losses.

"Just Gringotts, love," he says."Then we'll get Hogwarts out of the way. I know the plan, don't worry."

He disapparates, Remus at his side, before his resolve fails. They land in a tiny alleyway. Give themselves a minute to catch their breaths. Then they slip inside of Gringotts, and get ready to liberate a horcrux from Voldemort's own vault.

...

"Narcissa," says Andromeda, calm as a glacier.

Narcissa stiffens. Her star-white hair shines. Her robes, dark blue with silver lining, looks a mix between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. It's her eyes that warn Lily to duck a heartbeat before she gets cursed, and her reflexes are the only things that keep her from getting a drawers-worth of china shards to the spine.

"You betrayed me!" she flings at Andromeda, wand-tip glowing a preternatural blue.

Andromeda has her hands up, wandless, but Lily's willing to bet that doesn't mean anything. One gesture can arrest them all, particularly in this hall. Andromeda's certainly spent enough time to construct some runic wards over the past couple of days. Lily's still crouching behind her own shield, unwilling to let Narcissa at her again without any guarantee of peace.

"Not betrayed," says Andromeda."I want to talk to you. But so does Lily. And-" she hesitates for the briefest moment, brief enough that it wouldn't be audible to anyone who hadn't been paying complete attention,"-so does Sirius."

She steps forwards, and her hands really are wandless, Lily realizes with the shock of sudden, unpleasant realization. Andromeda is helpless,on the other side of Lily's shield, feet away from a known Death Eater-

"Do you remember when I told you that you need to choose a side?" she asks, holding out both hands like two fluttering doves."It's time, Narcissa."

Narcissa wavers. Her face dissolves like candlewick melting under the onslaught of fire. She looks so desperately torn that it catches on some old thorns on Lily's heart.

(Petunia, her cruelties, her hatreds, her kindnesses. Harry in Petunia's grasp. Lily loves her sister so wholly. She looks at these two, and they look so different, and still they are so much the same.

What do you call a sister you leave behind?

What do you call a sister you still love?)

"It's time," whispers Andromeda.

And slowly, face white as bone, Narcissa slides her own long-fingered palm into her sister's hands.

...

Brakshal used to work in one of the deepest mines, but after Voldemort killed so many in the Third clan... they needed more goblins involved in directing the those in the mines than in digging them. So Brakshal volunteered for the relocation and took it with the grim face of a patriot.

Patriot.

That is what he is.

The Second clan will deny that if ever they find out that he gave his portkey to humans, but Brakshal's grandfather fought in the Second Wizarding War nearly two centuries previous and taught him how turning your head or biting your tongue will only make wizards push for more concessions. Two hundred years ago, the humans had wanted to bind goblins the same way they bound elves, and it took enough blood to drown entire mineshafts to tell them the goblins wouldn't acquiesce.

So if the Second clan wants to accept Voldemort's yoke and prostrate themselves in front of him, Brakshal will not let them. Not when he knows that it will take just a few sweeps of his wand to bring down the entirety of Gringotts.

In the overseer's office, he's shuffling some papers when a bright purple light glows through the air. Brakshal's overseer, a goblin who hates light even more than Brakshal himself, growls loudly before he realizes what the light is.

"Unauthorized portkey use," he says and turns to Brakshal, eyes narrowing."Close to the vaults."

"You can-" Brakshal swallows. Forces his voice down, and calm."You can tell that?"

"It's sector-specific, lad. The moonstone sector's violet."

"That's still a big sector," says Brakshal carefully.

The overseer nods and rings a bell. Glares at the goblins who appear.

"Get a team," he says."Moonstone sector. Close to the vaults. See who's using portkeys there."

Brakshal waits for them to leave before he makes his way out of the office unobtrusively. He's so glad for the corridor he chose; the search parties won't ever go to that place first, which gives him enough time to make a meandering way over to it.

...

James and Remus land in the same corridor as last time. Remus can smell the blood. He sniffs against it, and then he remembers Lily's desperation right after that Vow- her fear, her rage. The weight of the stone in his pocket.

"James?"

"Wait a minute," he mutters back.

They do. For almost a quarter-hour, they're just loitering there, waiting to be picked off by either a waking dragon or any goblin that comes across them. Briefly, viciously, Remus wonders if this kind of danger was what Lily had been referring to when she told him to be careful. He doesn't say anything, though. Just tightens his grip on his wand. Just keeps his muscles loose, ready to react.

"Lord Potter," says a voice, scraping and harsh.

James turns casually, but Remus can see the knuckled-grip he has on his wand."Brakshal," he returns.

"You kept your Vow."

"I did."

"Follow me," he says.

Remus grits his teeth against the prickle of wariness from his wolf, and follows Brakshal into the darkness.

...

They hadn't thought Narcissa would be easy, exactly, but Lily wouldn't have named her stubborn either. But there she sits, unbendable as a stone statue.

"I want neutrality," she says calmly."I told you before. I will not die for your cause."

"Narcissa," says Sirius."Come on,you know we won't be safe otherwise! If he's still alive he'll come after you sooner or later."

"And because of that I should risk my life now? I think not."

"Don't you want him defeated?"

"I want him not to hurt me or my husband or my son."

"'Cissy-"

Sirius groans low in his throat and leaves the room. Lily, after a hesitant glance towards Andromeda- who's still trying to convince Narcissa and completely ignoring Sirius' departure- follows him.

He's resting his forehead on his arm, pressed up against the wall. Lily reaches for him. Rests her fingers on the hinge of his elbow, light and warm. Sirius shudders.

"Sirius," she says softly.

"If You-Know-Who didn't pose a threat to her son," says Sirius,"do you think she'd even fucking care?"

Lily turns so she has her back against the wall, one leg propping her up and the other resting flat on the wall."No," she says."But she isn't willing to become a killer, and doesn't want her son to become a killer, and that... means something, doesn't it?"

Sirius laughs, low and humorless."Does it?"

"If we're only going to save people who are doing the right things for the right reasons, we might as well give up now."

"She's a coward."

"Yes, well." Lily pushes herself off the wall."Someone once told me that coward isn't the worst insult in the world."

"Lily."

"Sirius."

"How can you sit in there?" he asks disbelievingly."She's- she won't look at you, or talk to you, or treat you like- like you're a fucking witch. Like you're a fucking human."

"If I had Draco Malfoy in my arms, she'd treat me like I was fucking Morgana come again," Lily tells him flatly."If there's one thing I've learned in Hogwarts, it's that people will look down on me no matter if I'm successful or not. I could kill You-Know-Who myself and they'd say it was Harry who did it!" She takes in the stricken look on Sirius' face and softens."I don't need Narcissa Malfoy to change her views for me to save her and her son, Sirius. I need her to give me the diary that is hiding in her home."

...

They enter Bellatrix's vault, and it takes only a few further moments for James to use Lily's rune-based detection spell to identify the Cup. He can feel the malevolence from it; he takes it with a gloved hand and Remus drops it into a magic-damping pouch at his side.

"That seemed easier than it should've been," mutters James.

On cue, there are shouts down the corridor, and Brakshal shafts a glare into his direction with Remus. They both look so similar that James can't help grinning at them.

"Run!"cries Brakshal.

...

"A house in Portugal," says Sirius."Warded as best we can. Legally staying there also means the government will stop You-Know-Who from retaliating you if he doesn't want to attack the country, too. If you give us that diary-"

"No," says Narcissa.

...

"Whycan't we use the portkey!"

"Anti-exit wards," snarls Brakshal."They don't want you escaping before they can catch you. They have it over the entire sector."

Remus hisses under his breath. So fuckingclose-

"Potter," says Brakshal, hurtling to a stop at a corridor. He looks wild; eyes wide and clothes disheveled."It's a straight corridor from here. No turns. Take it and you'll get to an exit."

"And what are you going to do?" asks Remus suspiciously.

"Slow them down," says Brakshal grimly."You'll need the time."

He doesn't wait for them to agree. Just turns back and starts running towardsthe bloodthirsty mob after them.

James is white-faced. He isn't moving. Remus looks at him, and he knows why, somewhere down deeper than blood and bone.

"One goblin," he says.

"One friend," counters James. Then, his trump card,"I have a plan anyways."

"A good one?"

"A better one than hopingwe'll find an exit." The wicked gleam in his eye; the angle of James' wrist. Remus' heart thumps in his chest."We're close to where we entered, yeah?"

Remus tilts his head. Smells. The dragon isn't too far away, which means that corridor isn't either. The pieces click together, and Remus feels elation and awe and fierce, flame-hot adrenaline lick at his veins.

(Lily gave him that portkey, but fucking hell: Remus is a Gryffindor too, and he can be stupidly damnably courageous when the mood takes him.)

"Let's go."

...

"Granddaughter."

Narcissa goes rigid. She rises and curtsies almost immediately- the perfect, sharp-boned movements of a woman to her Head of House."Grandfather," she says quietly.

"Come, Narcissa," says Arcturus warmly."I believe we have much to talk about."

...

Brakshal is cursing them. James is saving his breath for running faster; he's not quite got either Brakshal's or Remus night-vision and he can't afford to give any ground to the goblin mob behind them.

Not that he can't blame them for being so bloodthirsty. If he had to keep silent while more than half his nation was slaughtered for no reason- he'd take his anger out on the nearest people he could do so without an repercussions too.

But that doesn't mean James isn't going to avoid their sharp weaponry as best he can.

And just because he's been quiet for the past couple of months doesn't mean he's going to be that forever. He really hopes Lily's got the diary; he's moving their plans up with this little stunt.

Leap up a stone just left in the middle of the corridor. Twist around a corridor, ignoring the bruise on his shoulder from slamming into the opposite wall. Emerge, finally, into the cavern housing a giant, blind dragon.

"Potter," says Brakshal, voice low and suddenly quavering."Whatever you're thinking, don't do something mad. They-"

"You're the mad one if you think I'll let them tear you apart after you helped me," says James calmly."Plus, I've got a vow to fulfill, don't I? Now. Don't distract me."

The dragon shifts its head to track James' voice, and Brakshal makes an indistinct sound low in his throat.

James grins and raises his wand. Points. "Relashio,"he says, and one set of the chains clink to the floor. There's just enough stiffness to the other chains that he dances up them to sit on the dragon, right behind the neck. Remus is behind him; Brakshal gets Leviosa'd to sit between them, and as Remus shatters the chains, as the other goblins skid into the room with their clankers, as the dragon roars in sudden rage and fear-

-James calls lightning down.

The dragon, screaming, howling, feels wind on its back for the first time in years, and rises to meet it. Lightning flashes down again, makes the hole from the very first level of Gringotts bigger.The dragon spirals upwards. Rain lashes down James' back; James grins into it. The first thieves of Gringotts have done very, very well indeed.

...

"No," says Narcissa."I'm sorry." She stands."I cannot."

"Narcissa-"

Lily steps forwards and hands Narcissa her cloak, ignoring Arcturus as completely as he's ignoring her.

"Fine, then," she says."Leave, if that's what you're going to do."

"Lily-"

"You'll understand later," Lily tells her quietly."And you will be very sorry for your cowardice then."

Narcissa flushes bright red, but she leaves to the garden- so she can apparate away- without saying anything.

Lily turns to Sirius, staring at her."Trust me," she tells him.

...

"A dragon,Potter?" screams Brakshal, but James isn't listening to him, is he?

James is in the air again, and there is nothing else in the entire damn world that matters.

...

Narcissa lands in her home and goes to strip herself of her cloak, only to feel a weight in a pocket that hadn't been there before. Slowly, she reaches it and feels it out- it feels crisp, hard edges, like parchment folded and stiffened.

She glances around her bedroom to make sure there's nobody around.

Lucius will likely come soon for their dinner party tonight, but Narcissa should have enough time to read the letter and do her make-up before he arrives. And if she ignores it, her concentration will definitely be shot to hell during the dinner, which will be more dangerous rather than less.

Slowly, she unfolds it.

Writing, black and blocky, spreads over the surface.

Dear Mrs. Malfoy,she reads.

Dear Mrs. Malfoy,

I know how afraid you are feeling. My son is the same age as yours, and if I had a chance to escape without any strings, I would take them before I could blink. But that is not something that has been offered to me, and it will never be offered to me, and I have accepted that.

So I will defeat your husband's master, sooner or later.

I have already killed people in this war. You will know her, I think: Bellatrix Lestrange. My husband has not; Sirius has not; Andromeda has not. If there have been any deaths on your side, they have been accidents, for we've never aimed to do anything other than injure.

That was a mistake.

I have learned that now.

So let me be clear, Mrs. Malfoy, from one mother to another: there are two things that will happen. Either I will get that diary from you, kill Voldemort, and then testify to the Wizengamot that you are innocent, or I will kill Voldemort, testify to the Wizengamot that you are guilty and ought to pay reparations, and then destroy that diary. Make no mistake that if the second happens I will ensure you go to Azkaban, as you certainly deserve.

Andromeda wants to save you because you are her sister. Sirius wants to save you because he loves Andromeda. Both of them are purebloods, who have not suffered the fears that I have- for every hour of every day that I have held a wand, the most powerful wizard in Britain has wanted me dead. My husband and the others who know I am alive might forgive you, but I will not. I want you to know that. I am not a forgiving witch.

And I keep my promises.

Let me be clear: your options are to gather your courage and give me that diary, or to go to Azkaban and surrender all your possessions with it. If you think that easy, remind yourself that your son remains a minor and needs you, and there is no court in the entire country that would not grant me custody of Draco if I applied. Think on that: your son, growing up with a muggleborn as a mother, going to the muggle world, thinking any non-magical person his equal. I would not keep your name from him, but I would ensure he knows you to be a villain and a coward both.

I have escaped your husband's master four times, and lived to tell the tale all four. I have killed your sister. I am prepared to do far, far worse for peace, because this world will not get better unless we make it better.

Get me that diary, Narcissa.

- Lily Potter

"Narcissa?"Narcissa jerks, dropping the paper, and Lucius frowns at her."What is that?"

"Some paper in my coat." She glances at it, and it's pristinely blank again."I believe an elf was remiss in cleaning, yet again."

"You aren't ready yet?"

Narcissa returns the admonition with a serene smile."I was in the conservatory again, love. I, ah, lost track of time."

"We'll be late."

"Did you speak to Draco yet?" She waves her wand and her hair goes up in a proper coif, woven with glittering strands of diamonds. Another and her earrings are properly shining, and a last affixes the necklace."He started levitating a toy I kept on the other side of the room."

The irritation in Lucius' gaze is abruptly replaced with pride. Narcissa smiles at him through the mirror and watches him do the same, almost stupid with the joy, and she feels resolve harden her heart. There's nobody else in all the world who knows how well Lucius loves her and Draco. Nobody else who has seen that particular fierce, brilliant joy in his face.

Oh, the temerity of the mudblood is galling, to say the least, but she isn't wrong. Nobody had known how Bellatrix was killed, and Narcissa had resigned herself to never knowing, until she got the confession. It's just a pity that she'll never suffer for that.

But the Dark Lord will ruin her family. He will turn Draco into a killer. He will kill Lucius. He will kill Narcissa,as he's done to half her family. For the peace of her world back, Narcissa will risk- everything.

Even if that means being stupidly brave.

...

They fly for what feels like a long time, but Remus doesn't know how long it is, exactly; the adrenaline messes with his internal clock. He can feel Brakshal wilting in front of him. The air is definitely colder, though, and they are-

Spiraling downwards.

"James!" Remus hollers."What the fuckare you doing?"

"Last part of the plan," James shouts back."We need to- oh, fuck- we need to land soon, Moony-"

The cloud cover breaks, and Remus sees the castle in front of them, turrets shining, towers gleaming, glass windows glittering. Brakshal swears, loudly. Remus wants to killJames.

"There's childrenin Hogwarts, you daft bugger," he says, loud enough for his throat to hurt, but they're moving too fast now for the words to be heard by Remus, let alone anyone else. Then a more immediate problem presents itself."Prongs! We're going too fast!"

Way, way, way too fast.

"Yeah," shouts James."Remember when we tried to fly out of the tower in second year?"

"We're going to break our legs!"

"We're better with our wands now!"

"Merlin, I fucking hateyou," snarls Remus.

But they're getting closer, and he doesn't see how he has a choice. James' plan is, somehow, ridiculously, their best chance of surviving this. And Remus trusts in James' calculations more than he does his own; James has always been the best flyer Remus has ever known. He hisses out and then loops his arms around Brakshal and grips his wand tighter. He'll need to be so damn lucky-

"On my count, Moony!"

Remus adjusts his sitting. Slings one leg over so he's sitting sidesaddle, and then prods Brakshal into the same movement. Waits for the call, but James doesn't sayanything. Remus leans back, peering worriedly at James, only for him to flinch upright.

"James-"

"Onetwothree NOW!"screams James, and Remus' brain whites out with panic.

But at least his body knows what to do. Even scared out of his mind, Remus' knees bunch against the tough dragonhide and shove him off. For a long, terrifying moment, he's tumbling through the air, and Brakshal is howling in his ear, and Remus cannot breathe for the wind stealing the air from his lungs, and-

And then the world stills.

Thank fuck,thinks Remus, and then twists in the bounds of the Levitation charm as best he can to see James.

He's falling, too, and he's much lower than Remus would be comfortable with, particularly when his movements are confined by James'charm, and distance makes such things weaker, and oh Merlin they're going to die very very very-

A jet of light erupts from his wand and, through some miracle, Remus' wingardium leviosahits James.

Almost as immediately, the charm on Remus fades and they plummet again. Brakshal screams, so loudly Remus flinches, but they slow down as soon as they're at James' height.

"I," says Remus, as soon as he sees James' eyes,"am going to kill you, Potter."

James grins at him."We survived a dragon ride, Moony. Don't tell me you aren't proud of us."

"Twin levitation charms?" Remus hisses."We shouldn't be alive,you moronic-"

Brakshal twists around, positively spitting."You are mad," he says, and it doesn't sound half so angry as horrified."You both are-"

"I'd listen to that lecture, I really would, but I think you should hold off," says James earnestly."Looks like there's some- er- professors who we need to explain ourselves to."

"Yeah," growls Remus."Professors who think you're dead."

James stares at him."I'd forgotten that."

"How muchhave you been doing?" asks Brakshal incredulously.

"We'll need reinforcements, I think."

"Patronus?"

Remus glances down, into the lake below them."I can do it silently," he says."If we can keep from, you know. Dying on impact."

"I think I've got enough control to manage that."

"Prongs," sighs Remus.

"Ready?"

"No!" shouts Brakshal.

"You should be," says Remus. Then, as reassuringly as he can manage,"I'll keep you from drowning, I promise."

"Wait-"

"Now!" snaps Remus, and James obeys him just as quickly as Remus had done a few moments earlier.

They plummet, and then stop, and then plummet, and then stop, until he's fairly certain that they won't break their legs when they fall into the lake. Nods to James, grips Brakshal, and falls.

Even as he does, even as the water closes over his head, Remus is casting.

Expecto Patronum,Remus screams mentally, remembering that moment in his flat when James had proven to be alive- that rush of relief, that overwhelming flush of life where death had stolen in. His wolf pads out and Remus focuses wholly on the message he needs to send.

The patronus nods at him, and winks out of existence.

Remus then focuses on paddling up. Brakshal is swimming- he's paddling on the surface- and James is doing his classic wildly splashing swim that looks both hilarious, incompetent and draws everyone's attention.

Draws everyone's attention for just enough time for Remus to catch his breath and appear at the surface. His nudge to James' shoulder makes him calm, slightly, and then they're in shallow water. Remus gets his feet under him. Grips Brakshal's shoulder, and makes his way out of it into the freezing December wind.

McGonagall sees James and goes white.

"Hi, Professor," he says sheepishly."Long time no see, innit?"

...

"I'd like to speak to you for some time," says Arcturus. He pauses."Soon."

Sirius glances over his shoulder. Lily and Andromeda are talking in low voices; they have time. And he owes his grandfather for coming to try and convince Narcissa, if nothing else. He didn't have any obligation.

"Okay," says Sirius, waving him into the library.

Arcturus seats himself on the plushy sofa that Lily'd changed the library sofa into after she got tired of the pointy, uncomfortable furniture his parents favored. Sirius can see the regard on Arcturus' face: he isn't happy, exactly, but Sirius suspects there's unwilling admiration for the sheer scope of the changes buried underneath the layers of mockery anyhow.

Arcturus places something onto the table that clinks, and rolls before coming to a halt at the edge.

A ring, Sirius sees. Gold and heavy and shining.

"Your father's," says Arcturus quietly."The Heredis'ring."

"Ah," says Sirius weakly. He can't quite bring himself to reach out for it."You've been holding onto it?"

"Yes. It is your birthright- take it. Keep it safe." Arcturus pauses, then tacks on deliberately:"Make your ancestors proud."

"Right."

"One other thing, Sirius."

Sirius frowns at him. At the strained quality to his voice. Arcturus Black has never been anything but sure of his actions, of the path he's treading. Now he looks... different. Oddly different.

It doesn't sit rightly with Sirius.

"The prophecy you told me doesn't speak of birth."

"What?"

"Approaches," says Arcturus. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.Not will be born.To those who have thrice defied him, and as the seventh month dies, with a power he does not know. That does not preclude others. That does not imply that a child will defeat the Dark Lord, though I know why He would take it to mean so."

"Dumbledore believed it meant a child as well," says Sirius cautiously.

"The blood of prophecy runs strong in some lines." Arcturus tilts his head, eyes shining."The ability to twist prophecy to their own means runs strong in other lines."

"We're not lawyers."

"We are leaders,"says Arcturus softly."We Blacks have always been that. And often, being a leader means knowing when to turn away from the wind, and when to face the teeth of the storm. No prophecy is ever so simple as first thought. This world belongs to us, do you understand? To those with courage and cunning enough to call themselves worthy of prophecy and history."

"I don't understand. What does-"

"Sirius!" Lily bursts into the library, eyes wide. Sirius cuts himself off sharply, looking at her."Patronus. From Remus. They're at Hogwarts." Sirius curses, low and fluent. Lily nods at him. "Timeline's been moved up," she says."We have to go. They need back-up."

Sirius pauses, glancing back to his grandfather."I have to go," he says regretfully. He's surprised to find that he actually means it, too."They'll need us."

"Then you must go," says Arcturus.

Sirius is almost out of the door when Arcturus calls after him.

"Remember, Sirius, that sometimes acts of defiance need not be of their own volition. Your father's death... your mother's current home... it all matters. Any prophecy is only ever what we make of it. Don't forget that." Sirius turns back, and Arcturus smiles at him."Good luck. May you achieve your highest dreams."

An old blessing. Usually given when children head to Hogwarts. Sirius hadn't gotten that blessing then, because he'd set fire to Narcissa's hair the night before he was supposed to leave. It's not warmth that its use sparks inside of him now, but it isn't too far off either; just some old hurt, some old injustice, smoothing away now, years later.

But not too late.

"Thank you," says Sirius, and is surprised at how much he means those words.

...

Minerva has James tied up besides Remus and the goblin they're calling a friend, on the banks of the lake. She can feel her outrage: how dare the Death Eaters try to emulate one of her Gryffindors, let along one who they killed so mercilessly! She can also feel the fondness and the grief at the memory of James; what Minerva would give to have him and Lily alive, hale, cannot be put properly into words.

James- the man who bears James' face- tries to convince Minerva to put a Warming Charm over them for a good period of time, until he sees Severus making his way over to them, face so dark it looks like a cloud's hovering over him.

He's almost joined them when a woman calls from the forest behind Minerva:

"I'd appreciate it if you'd let my husband go, Professor McGonagall."

Minerva sees Severus' face go slack. She whirls around and sees a woman who looks too much like Lily Potter approaching her. A woman accompanied by Sirius Black. Both of whom have their wands drawn.

"Step away," says Minerva sharply."Drop your wands. We-"

"We survived, Professor," says Lily sincerely, but she doesn't let go of her wand."I know it's hard to understand, but we did. I got James out, and then- well. We've been working on defeating You-Know-Who for the past few months."

"I don't believe you," says Minerva.

"You should," says Sirius.

"What?" demands Minerva."Trust in a Death Eater who broke out of Azkaban? In the shades of people well and truly dead? In a werewolf and a goblin?" She raises her wand higher."Step back, both of you, or drop your wands and let me bind you. The wards are not kind to Death Eaters."

Sirius' lifts an eyebrow."You have one right next to you, though," he comments almost casually.

Severus makes a strangled noise.

Minerva doesn't look behind her."He is here on the Headmaster's sufferance. You are-"

Lily steps forwards, through the wards that ought to have killed her. Minerva chokes. The wards hadkept Death Eaters out, particularly after the Ministry fell, when nearly a score of them had their blood boiled within their veins. She turns a look on Minerva, so scathing and cutting and familiar that Minerva knows, suddenly, that it's herLily, the girl she'd fostered and watched grow into such a beautiful woman.

The girl who'd been dead until just a few moments ago.

"-I am Lily Potter," says Lily fiercely."I saved my husband. I saved my son. I am here, and I've never been gone. That I swear to you." She lowers her wand, just a little."Please, Professor. I'm sure Dumbledore will want to meet with us."

Minerva nods to her, heart swelling, but she cannot forget the other boy she'd had her heart torn apart by, so she turns to Sirius, who's still outside the wards. He's very pale. He looks- well, not nervous,because Sirius Black has never known how to look like that- but he does look distinctly unhappy about taking a risk on the wards.

Then he steps through, and the wards accept him without so much as a flicker.

"Yes," says Minerva faintly."That is starting to look like a good idea."

...

"I'd not thought to see this in my life," says Dumbledore.

He looks aged in these short months that Lily's not seen him; aged and exhausted. Lily's terse explanation of how they came to be like this hadn't impressed him, she thinks, but it has relieved him of some grief. Not all of it, perhaps, but then the war has burst from the shadows into broad daylight. He has become a general, and not just the leader of a resistance movement. There's something to grieve in that.

Lily forgets, so often, that the Ministry cannot be relied upon.

Not in truth, of course; but it'd been some sort of a beacon of hope. Some knowledge that their world wouldn't completelyaccept madmen and bigots into their government.

And now that Ministry has fallen, and the last hope of all Britain is Hogwarts. Hogwarts, where children wait to die. Hogwarts, where Lily learned to make her world safe, because god only knew that nobody else could be relied upon.

Hogwarts, where Dumbledore is Headmaster.

"I'd not hopedto see it," Dumbledore corrects himself. "Both of you, alive and well… it was beyond my wildest hopes."

"I couldn't come here," says Lily. She doesn't want to sound like a child, but also: "I couldn't know whom to trust. After Peter did that to us- I couldn't have done anything differently." She swallows and looks a Dumbledore. "That's not on you. I want you to know that."

"Thank you, my dear," says Dumbledore, very gravely. He raises his eyebrows at Sirius and Remus. "And my apologies to the both of you. I let my grief swallow my reason, and both of you shouldn't have had to bear that burden."

"'M not saying Azkaban was fun," says Sirius, "but how did Moony get screwed over?"

"I was in the middle of a werewolf camp," says Remus levelly. "And I was in mourning. Deep mourning. If Greyback had caught me mourning someone not of his pack, it wouldn't have been- good." Sirius, leaning against a wall, blanches. Lily frowns, but Remus isn't looking at any of them; he's staring at the Headmaster. "But I thought you knew all along, sir."

Dumbledore blinks. "That James and Lily were alive, and Sirius innocent, and you in Britain instead of eastern Europe? My boy, my imagination is certainly not so capable as all that."

Professor McGonagall snorts. Remus ignores it all- he leans forward instead, as if straining to grasp something. "But the letter- I thought it was Sirius, but then he didn't know until we both saw James in my flat, so it wasn't him, so- who else could've sent it?"

"What letter?"

"It said- you're alive. To come home. I don't know anyone else who'd know where I was, apart from you, sir, and…" Remus cuts himself off, suddenly, as if somebody had cast silencioon him.

Sirius reaches out and brushes Remus' arm. "Moony,"he says quietly, worried.

"Mr. Lup- Remus!" exclaims Professor McGonagall. "What in the-"

"Peter," says Remus, so softly that Lily's blood runs cold. "He sent that letter. He's the only one who knew- who could've- oh, Merlin."

He sits down, hard. Lily kind of wants to do the same. Peter, saving Remus' life? But then, Remus hadn't discussed how much danger he'd been in in the camps. He'd never liked to talk about it. He hadaccepted Lily's and James' survival better than Sirius, which she'd chalked down to Remus' calmer disposition rather than any advanced warning.

"Take a lemon drop, Remus," says Dumbledore, handing him the sweet before settling down. "Well. That is an interesting development indeed, if it's true. Perhaps Mr. Pettigrew can be convinced to-"

"We aren't convincing him of anything," Sirius says harshly. "He's a moron. And a coward. Probably got tortured and became frightened of what he'd chosen. We aren't-"

"-if he's trying to help, then we shouldn't make that out to be any lesser than what we're trying to do," says Lily. She holds up her hand at Sirius' protests. "Doesn't mean we trust him. But we can… accept that he's not entirely evil, yes?"

"No," says Sirius mutinously, but Lily ignores him in favor of sweeping her gaze over McGonagall and the others.

When she sees no disagreement, Lily continues briskly: "And anyhow, we've more important information. You-Know-Who shall be here soon, particularly when he finds out that we've got- what we got. And that means we have to move fast."

Professor McGonagall lifts an eyebrow. "It might help us move faster still if you told us what you have."

James- who's been very silent; who's been suspiciouslysilent- stretches, like a big cat rising to a hunt. "They're called horcruxes," he says grimly. "They're pieces of his soul."

For a long moment, nobody speaks. Then Dumbledore stretches out a hand.

"I would be very interested in how you came by such an object."

"Chance and luck, sir," says Lily. "Nothing more and nothing less. But we've developed a method of both detection and destruction, and that points to one in Hogwarts- which is why we had to come here." She can't quite help the sidelong look towards James, who's staring back at her with his large, lovely eyes, nor the heat that flushes right under her skin, pleasantly itchy."We weren't planning to do this so quickly, but... well, needs must, I suppose."

"Which is your way of telling me I was an idiot," says James, amused.

"Flying the dragon out of Gringotts was an impressive way of getting You-Know-Who's attention," Lily replies archly, before turning back to Dumbledore, levity fading."I'm still the best person at detecting the horcruxes. James is the only person who can destroy them, so I'll leave him to working on that."

"It's going to take some time," James cautions."I'm not at my best right now."

Meaning he's probably running damn low, and the idiot doesn't plan to rest on it either. Lily takes a look at his face and feels, again, the warning twinge under her breastbone. There's something wrong here. Something that Lily can almost grip, something Lily knowsbut cannot quite remember.

But she doesn't quite have the energy or moral ground enough to tell him to stop, so she doesn't.

"With your leave, I'll start searching." Lily glances at Sirius, who's practically vibrating with the need to do something.Well, it isn't as if she doesn't understand."I think you should start preparing. He'll be here- soon, I think."

"This is a school," says Minerva.

"It was a school," says Sirius flatly."It's a battleground now, Professor. Lily's right. We're going to have to fight soon. You should ask your seventh years if they're willing to bear arms. And-"

"-and they're children," says McGonagall, just as sharp."We have let enough of you slip into war over these years."

"Then," says Remus, pressing his fingers to Sirius' hand, still on his shoulder,"we must evacuate them. Quickly."

"While the rest of us works on getting the defenses up," says James."That's going to be very important." He claps his hands."So. Get the children out. Get the aurors and the rest of the Order up to speed. Get the defenses up. Defeat You-Know-Who." He smiles wickedly."I'm sure there's going to be a lot of people who'll be happy to see us."

"If you will go and find it, then you will be traveling about the school, I presume?" asks Dumbledore.

Lily blinks."Yes."

"You'll need a professor to accompany you, then. For safety's sake."

"Sir, that isn't-"

"And if the rest of them are so busy raising the defenses, you shall need to take someone who cannot be seen working for us," Dumbledore goes on, inexorably."It will not be easy for you, I'm afraid, but necessary."

"Professor, it really isn't-"

"It is," says Dumbledore."The defenses, you know, that are there already are... rather unpleasant for those unaccompanied. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Lily does. She doesn't want to agree. She could go her whole life without ever meeting him, without ever talking to him, and be happy. But she also knows the value of protesting to an Albus Dumbledore whose eyes are twinkling that particular shade of electric blue.

"Yes, Professor," says Lily, nails cutting into her palms.

"I'll come with you," says James, getting up."I'll have to find a place to do the lightning anyways; I can take Brakshal while I'm at it."

Lily accedes with little grace, and she lets James precede her out of the door. Then she pauses."Don't put up an owl ward until the end."

"You're expecting mail?" asks McGonagall disbelievingly.

"A package, I think." Lily glances at the sky. It's dark; the dark of well past sundown."You can do it at midnight. Not before." She turns to Dumbledore."People do deserve a chance to prove their loyalties."

"I don't disagree," says Dumbledore.

Lily nods briskly and strides out the door, only to be caught by James' hand tight on her wrist. He uses it to yank her backwards, out of view of the door as it closes. Lily almost yelps in surprise, but then she feels James' faint, shivery trembles.

"Jimmy?"

"I'd forgotten," he says lowly,"how it feels, to rely on other people." James bends forwards and noses against her neck blindly, more for comfort than anything else."Did you hear McGonagall?"

"When?"

"At the lake."

"About what?"

"Werewolf and goblin," says James wearily."That was all that Remus became to her, so quickly. Werewolf. Merlin. I think I might have burned a bit of grass, it was that fucking- infuriating."

Lily runs her hands up his arms, light enough that there's no pressure."We're only going to get a chance to change things if we defeat him,James. Not otherwise."

"Lils.You don't-"

"So they're wrong," says Lily."So they're stupid. So they're bigoted. They aren't bad people, they're just- wrong. Here. Now. And we'll fix that, we'll teach them, but we can'tif we aren't alive."

James sighs."It's not going to end with defeating You-Know-Who, is it?"

Lily forgets that James isn't her,so often; she thinks he sees the world the same way she does right up until he says shit like this. Of course it's not going to end with defeating Voldemort. Of course it's going to be difficult and sore and aching, but Lily has magic, and she won't let anyone strip it from her. Not for all the bigots and dark wizards in the entire world.

"No," she says."It isn't. But it's a damn good start, I think."

And, hand in hand, they descend from the Headmaster's office.

...

It's almost unbearably awkward once James and the goblin- Brakshal, James had said- leave for the Quidditch pitch, which James thinks is probably the best place for him to call the lightning to destroy the horcruxes, and it's just Lily and Severus walking up stairs silently.

For some time, she manages to keep her attention on the crystal that's focusing the power from the rune carved into her forearm- it's a fiddly piece of work- but that can only last for so long.

"Oh, fine" says Lily, once she realizes that Severus won't speak first. She's so fucking tired."Just spit it out, would you?"

"Spit what out?" asks Severus delicately.

"I'm not in the mood for your games," warns Lily.

He doesn't answer immediately, but then he says, quietly,"It was my worst nightmare, you know. Hearing about your death."

"Am I supposed to feel sorry for that?"

"I turned my back on himbecause of you!"

Lily whirls on him."Do you expect me to forgive you?" she asks. "This- this madness, these people who want me dead for my blood. Who want my son dead because of a fucking prophecy. You think I can forgive you for liking them? For thinking anything they did was good?" Severus sways backward as if she's slapped him, and Lily narrows her eyes."You think I can congratulate you for finding basic morals, Severus?"

"No," says Severus heavily. He pauses on the stairs. "Did you ever love me?" Lily closes her eyes and leaves him behind. She's almost up the stairs when he calls after her: "I need help, actually." Lily turns to glare at him, and he lifts his hands. "Trick step."

"Fucking hell," mutters Lily, stomping down and yanking him up.

As soon as he's free, Lily turns back and keeps walking. She doesn't bother to wait for him, to see if he'll follow; she's certain that he will. Severus has always been good at that. She focuses on the crystal to drown out the rage singing through the rest of her.

It leads her up some stairs, to the seventh floor. To a blank wall, but Lily can feel the magic buzzing behind the wall through the rune on her forearm. She presses her fingers against it, trying to decipher what it needs to be unlocked.

It's simple enough, in the end: magic pulsed three times, with Lily's fingers light against the stone; but Lily pauses before she can open the door.

"Where's the fucking justice?" she asks. Severus blinks at the non-sequitur. Lily waves a hand. "You made a mistake, yes, but there are consequences to it. Just because you became a spy you don't deserve Azkaban anymore? Just because you're more useful to the war out of prison, you won't be imprisoned?"

"No choice is made in a vacuum." Severus looks away from her."But I never forgot about you. You should know that. I told the Dark Lord not to hurt a woman named Lily Evans. That was- of utmost importance to me."

"I am not," says Lily,"an Evans any longer."

She opens the door, and plunges into the Room of Hidden Things.

...

The Quidditch Pitch is open and grassy, and one end of it is very close to the wardline. James tilts his head up. Closes his eyes. Breathes.

The promise of rain sits, heavy and damp, on his skin.

James smiles.

...

"Sirius Black tried to kill me," says Severus."You've clearly forgiven him for that, so what makes this so different?"

"You really don't see any difference between attempted murder in the heat of the moment and a calculated strategy of murder and violence and disenfranchisement and genocide?"

"How can you trust someone who gets so angry he loses all sight of his ethics?"

Lily laughs, sharp like a mirror's cutting edge."You're talking to me about ethics?"

"Don't deflect."

"Fine." Lily turns to him, eyes glittering like cold emeralds."I can trust him because I know he'll die before he betrays me and mine. No matter how angry he gets. I cannot trust you because you'll kill my son and my husband just because it makes you happy, and I won't ever forget that."

At that, Severus falls silent, and Lily picks her way around some more book stacks, trying to find that blasted horcrux.

"You're saying you never regretted choosing something?" asks Severus softly.

Lily sighs."I have. But then, I've never made a mistake as badly as you did, either."

"I love you," he says.

"I know," says Lily wearily."I'm not blind, Severus."

He doesn't look hurt; he just looks like he expected it, the blow straight to the sternum. Severus smiles, odd and bent at the corners like a beaten metal sheet.

"Do you remember the stones?" he asks."Those- those stones, from Belfast."

"From vacation?" asks Lily, surprised."Yes."

They'd had such fun. It'd been one of very few vacations her parents had let her bring Severus on, and they'd whiled their time away dancing around stone circles for hours while her parents did whatever adults did on holiday. They'd each taken one stone with them when they left, and Lily'd chosen one with a hole through the middle that she'd poked a string through and tied around her neck like some pagan necklace.

"And that plaque, near the bench-"

"-of CS Lewis," says Lily, quieter."Yes, I remember that."

"You handed me that stone and-" Severus looks away, then back, and there's something painful in the dark twist of his eyes."-and d'you know what you said, Lily?"

"No," she whispers.

"Your favorite lines in the books."

"Courage, dear heart," she says, in tune with him, and isn't surprised when Severus barks a laugh that's utterly mirthless.

"I should've known you'd be a Gryffindor when you said that," he says."Should've known that you'd never become mine in that moment. But- you were the only good thing I knew. How could I just let you go?"

Lily turns away instead of answering. How can she answer? Whatcan she answer?

The crystal breaks into fractals of light, and Lily looks around her, and she sees: a jewelled diadem, gleaming like something out of a star.

...

Moments before they put up the owl ward, there is one owl that sneaks through; a long-winged, elegant Tawny that flies directly to the tower that Sirius is in. It bears a package, small and delicate, and it lands on Sirius' arm with sharp claws.

"What is it?"

"A letter from..." Sirius pauses."Narcissa."

Remus blinks.

"She says: TELL LADY POTTER THAT IT'S LADY MALFOY, NOT MRS. MALFOY."Sirius reaches out and undoes the package's strings, and the paper falls away to reveal a slender, leather-bound diary."I suppose Lily got through to her, then."

"That sounds- improbable."

"No," says Sirius, and he grins at Remus."That sounds just like Lily, I think."

...

"The Dark Lord's calling for me," says Severus suddenly. His grip on his arm is white-knuckled.

Lily blinks at him."So quickly," she says.

"He's a suspicious bastard," agrees Severus."I'll have to-" he cuts himself off, takes a few steps away, then swivels back to look at Lily. "After all of this is over, promise me you won't go after vengeance." Severus inhales sharply. "Justice, not vengeance. For everyone you've captured. Be better than them. Promise me that. They don't deserve it, but-"

"-it isn't about deserving." Lily takes a deep breath."Alright."

Then she flicks her wand and before Severus can leave, there's a stone sitting in her palm- white, with a hole through the middle and a string wrapped around it. She holds it out to Severus.

He takes it, fingers cold and dry when they brush her palm.

"Courage, dear heart," says Lily softly."After all of this is over, Severus, come to me. We'll talk. I'll promise you that."

Eyes shining, Severus bows to her: as deep as a knight might, to a queen. Lily flushes a deep red. Then he disappears, in a swirl of black cloak and white skin.

...

Remus meets Lily in the middle of a corridor, and pales at the look on her face."We got the diary from Malfoy Manor."

"Good," says Lily briskly."I have the last one- it's Ravenclaw's diadem."

"Wait- the..."

"The lost one, yes."

"The bastard couldn't find anything else to ruin, of course," mutters Remus, and Lily rolls her eyes.

"Take them to James, would you?" she asks, handing hers over to him.

"Where're you going?"

"The library. I need to check something out."

"Lily-"

"It's important," she insists."Take it to James. I'll be there soon, I promise."

...

"Ah, Ssssseveruss."

"My Lord." Snape bows deeply.

Peter, hiding in the shadows behind the Dark Lord's throne, tries not to squeak.

"Do you have newssssss for me?"

"I do."

"Well?" Snape would do well to heed the dangerous edge to their Lord's sharp voice; he isn't in a mood to be trifled with.

"The Potters are alive, my Lord," says Snape, head still bowed.

Peter's heart stops beating. So. Not a bad dream. Peter's actions might well have borne some fruit. Perhaps...

The Dark Lord rises from his seat like a slithering snake."What?"

"They are alive, and in Hogwarts." Snape looks up at the throne."I spoke to them both."

"Ssseverussss," hisses their Lord."How did you not know of this until now?"

"None knew," says Snape."They have been afraid of betrayal ever since their Fidelius failed. Even Dumbledore and McGonagall knew nothing."

"And what has made them emerge now?"

"The Potter fool did something they couldn't hush up," says Snape flatly."It was he and the werewolf that flew the dragon out of Gringotts."

"They were fools to push the goblins further into my arms," murmurs their Lord."But still... were they so desperate for money?"

"No, my Lord." And here, at last, Snape hesitates. Peter presses himself harder against the stone of the throne, hoping he isn't ever going to be remembered."They were hunting for some object they said was of importance to you."

The Dark Lord freezes."What object?"

"A cup, I believe."

"How could they know what was my-"

"Lily Potter has apparently developed a method of detection."

For a long moment, the Dark Lord doesn't respond. He just flows forward, stopping right behind Snape, and bends over him."Lily Potter?"he asks silkily."Tell me, how long have you pined after the mudblood?"

Snape stills. His head bows, just a little, but when he lifts his gaze to the throne he does not look anything other than fierce. Unwillingly, unbearably, Peter feels a twinge of pride. A twinge of grief. Here, at the end of all things, a modicum of respect for his oldest enemy.

The Dark Lord strikes, yanking Snape's head up and straining him back so he doesn't have a chance to balance himself."Tell me!" he snarls.

"I never stopped," says Snape almost soundlessly.

He collapses when the Dark Lord releases him. His voice is quivering with rage as he asks: "How many horcruxes do they have, Sssssseverusssss?"

"All of yours," says Snape quietly."And a method of destruction as well."

There is no response, but then the Dark Lord lashes out. The wave of magic that passes through Severus is actually visible- it splashes over the stone throne, cracking it in half. Peter squeaks loudly, huddling closer to it, until his Lord speaks.

"Ready his body, Wormtail," he bites out."We are going to Hogwarts. I've tolerated its defiance for too long."

Peter transforms back to human and tries, desperately, hopelessly, to breathe."My Lord?" he asks, high-pitched.

"Let them see what has become of their much-vaunted spy," he hisses.

Quickly, Peter scurries down to Snape's corpse. There's no fear on his face; just some old, quiet sort of peace. Peter turns him over so he can make it easier for the apparition, only to freeze when he sees the white stone in the hollow of his wrist.

He's seen that before.

Lily.

Fingers trembling, Peter reaches for the bracelet, only to feel, impossibly: a pulse. That magic shouldn't have been survivable. It cracked stone in half. But Snape...

"Immobulus," whispers Peter.

That should keep him in stasis for long enough, long enough to-

To what?

Doesn't matter. Do what needs to be done. One step in front of another, and not a one otherwise. Survive. He unwinds that bracelet and ties it around his own wrist: something to hold him down. Something to give him a hold on sanity.

Then Peter grips Snape's cold, unresisting hand, and apparates to Hogwarts.

...

Lily knowswhere she can find it, knowsthe book is somewhere here-

She's so fucking close-

...

Voldemort's people apparate in, right on the edge of the wardline. Sirius paces it on the Hogwarts side, baring his teeth. The rest of the Order and the remnants of the Ministry are waiting, wands drawn and bunching with outrage. The children have been ferried out, according to McGonagall; Dumbledore is standing behind Sirius but close enough to the wardline to be easily visible.

And James is standing on the Quidditch Pitch, waiting for them to be ready.

Then Voldemort appears, and Sirius flinches at the full-body feeling of dark magic that suffuses the air.

But he holds something in his hands- something black, floppy, and big, but not too big. Sirius growls low in his throat when he realizes what it is. Whoit is.

"Your spy, Dumbledore!" cries Voldemort, voice high and cold. He tosses Snape to the ground; Snape lands, flops on the ground, dead-and Sirius snarls louder. He might have hated the man, but nobody deserves to die at Voldemort's wand. "See what has become of him! He wasn't quite good enough to keep your secrets. And now..."

He raises his wand, and points it at the wards, and starts trying to bring them down.

Sirius paces. He doesn't like being kept silent or not doing things, but there's a plan that Dumbledore trusts, and James is following, so Sirius won't be the one that ruins things. So they let Voldemort try to bring the best wards Hogwarts has to offer down, and after a few moments it's quite clear: he's getting frustrated.

He can't.

Good,thinks Sirius, hand so tight on his wand the wood is creaking. Get him angry, get him worked up, makehim make mistakes.

"NOW!" bellows Dumbledore, immensely loudly, and James lifts his axe high, high, to the sky.

For the fourth time in James' hands, lightning splits the sky open.

...

Lily's on the last book. She has so little time; she can see it, she can feel the electric tang of a storm rising. She flips through it, quickly, quickly, she doesn't have the time to waste.

Then.

Then.

Then.

In the Ancient Runes supplementary textbook, hidden amongst twenty pages of the meaning of runes:

Deathlight, Thor's axe. Bringer of life and death. One of the first runes ever identified. Means violent change; revolution.

There is an old rhyme of those who the axe has deigned to choose:"once to destroy, once to fly; once to threaten, once to die." Four times can they use the axe before the bearers of Thor's axe inevitably die. Most often, the cause of death is-

"Magical exhaustion," breathes Lily.

The only person to survive four uses has been Ignatius Peverell, who cleaved all of himself from the Deathlight, including the entirety of his magic. Regrettably, the method by which he accomplished this has been forgotten.

"He'll die," she says, and stands.

How can she remain sitting? There are lines she cannot allow to be crossed, and lines she will not allow to be crossed, and James dying constitutes- all of them.

But Lily has a plan, and she'll need to be fast, and that means...

She looks out the window near her. The library overlooks the Quidditch pitch. And James had cast matching hovering charms with Remus, to survive the fall, hadn't he?

Well. Time to see if self-cast hovering charms will work.

Her wand twists in the swish and flick of Wingardium leviosa,and Lily feels the glass shatter as she throws herself out the window.

She lands halfway between the mass of the Order and the Ministry members and James, and Remus is yet further, flanking Sirius at the wardline. She looks up, and James is standing, axe high, and the lightning isn't stopping.

Quickly,she commands herself, wand flicking out in a blur. Now or never!

And with all of her, she commands: "Accio!"

...

Remus yelps when his wand and the portkey in his pocket is yanked out, so violently he's left spinning. He turns to track it, and sees Lily, halfway between James' lightning and the rest of their army, wand aloft.

"What in the world-" Remus steps forwards, ready to ask, when Lily catches his wand.

"Moony?" says Sirius lowly.

"I don't know,"says Remus."I've got no idea what she's doing!"

Two-handed casting isn't possible. But Lily aims with her wand and casts a summoning charm- it hits James' axe- and in the exact same breath, with Remus' wand, she banishes the portkey directly towards James. It shouldn't be possible. Remus is staring; he can hear Sirius breathing curses besides him. Even Dumbledore- even everyone,including Voldemort- is staring at a feat that hasn't been accomplished, ever, before.

The portkey grabs onto James and falls to the ground, glowing an eerie blue, but Lily's focused on something else.

"Let go!" she shouts."James, please, please-let go-"

The axe.She's pulling on it. Trying to summon it from his grasp. Trying, and failing. Oh, Merlin, Remus realizes that this is exactly what Lily'd tried to get him to do, only he'd been so caught up in the war preparations, and...

The portkey is still glowing.

It's glowing brighter, and brighter still, until it hurts to look at it. Lily is screaming louder than even the lightning, and James is shouting now, too, but beneath it all Remus can hear something cracking.

Suddenly, Dumbledore catches his shoulder."The wards," he says, face pale."Whatever Lily has done- it is destroying them."

"We have to keep them up," says Remus flatly."It's going to be a bloodbath otherwise. With the numbers he has-"

"No," says Sirius. He, too, is pale; but he looks like he's realized something. He looks faintly sick with it, but. Resolved, too. Determined. And a determined Sirius is not something Remus has ever learned to stop."Let them in."

"That's going to be-"

"For a moment. Just long enough to trap him." Sirius turns to Dumbledore."You're going to have to. Sacrifice the rest of the integrity of the wards. Focus in one region. You can put up physical wards if you do that, right?"

"Yes."

"Then tie them into that. To an ending. Single combat, to the death. Shouldn't be too difficult, not with a little bit of Headmastery-magic."

"You will not survive single combat with him," says Dumbledore, unsmiling.

"Maybe," says Sirius."But you have the chance, don't you, sir?"

Dumbledore doesn't say anything. Remus doesn't know how either of them can thinkover the din of Lily and James, screaming together, like the world is ending for both of them.

Then Dumbledore says, quietly,"There is no other choice."

And the wards start to fall apart, in great cracking pieces of glittering blue.

James disappears instantly.

Thor's ancient axe slams towards Lily without anyone to hold it back, and she drops the spell before it can slice her in half. It falls beside her, an innocent piece of wood and metal. She collapses to her knees, silent; her last movement is a banishing charm, sending his wand skidding straight back to Remus.

"Sir," whispers Remus."The wards-"

"-are falling," says Dumbledore. His eyes are closed, wand twitching in minute movements in his hand."When the first spell is thrown, they will be reactivated. Sirius, watch the wardline. Remus, watch the Death Eaters. Don't let yourselves be taken off guard. Whatever happens, do not go peacefully."

He doesn't wait for their responses. Instead, slowly, creakingly, he steps forwards, and faces Voldemort."Tom," he says quietly.

"Dumbledore," hisses Voldemort.

"Sirius," says Remus, suddenly aware with that sixth sense that comes from knowing him for so long that he's going to do something reckless and stupid-"whatever you're planning to do-"

"Watch the Death Eaters, Moony," says Sirius lowly.

He shifts away, edging closer to the physical wardline that's going to emerge when the first spell is thrown, and he lifts his wand, just a little.

"Your horcruxes are gone," Dumbledore is telling Voldemort. "Your soul... you must show some remorse, Tom, before it is too late for you. Try, try-"

"I do not need your prattlingon matters you don't understand!"

But Sirius isn't aiming at Voldemort.

"Tom-"

"Avada-"

"Depulso!"cries Sirius, and he slides into the physical ward circle that Dumbledore's crafted in the same instant that Dumbledore is blasted out of it.

The ward circle that has been constructed with the express purpose of ensuring that they will fall only when one dueller dead.

"And who is thissssss?" hisses Voldemort.

"Sirius Black," says Sirius."I'd say it's a pleasure, but it really isn't."

Remus looks around helplessly. Dumbledore is still not getting to his feet, though a few brave Ministry members have rushed to try to heal him, and there's nothing inside of the ward circle that can help Sirius apart from Snape's body.

"You cannot hope to defeat me," says Voldemort, a terrible smile cracking his face open."Little boy. Ssssstand asssside."

"There's things you should know, first," says Sirius easily. He spins his wand, and ignores the sparks flying across it."Y'see, I was born in July. Hottest month in decades, according to my mother."

"Your delaysss are not-"

"What delays?" asks Sirius innocently."We can't leave this place without killing each other. And you're curious, I know you are. So. My mother was a terrible person, blah blah blah- but then you asked my father for a book that you should never have asked for, and my father refused you, and when you took it anyways, he died when he stole it back from you, because of the curses you placed on it.

"Do you understand yet?" Sirius' face still looks amused, but there's rage there, underneath it, banked but smoldering."That's two. And my mother- you told her to stay in Grimmauld Place. But my grandfather stole her away, because he thought being locked up there would ruin what was little left of her mind."

"I stopped Dumbledore's prattling, and I willstop-"

"-mine? But this isn't prattling." Sirius smiles, cold as liquid nitrogen."That's three defiances. Twice by my father. Once by my mother. Born as the seventh month dies... that's me."

"You," says Voldemort,"are notmy equal."

"I am," says Sirius."You killed my brother. As the Heredisof House Black, a mark on one of them is a mark on me, and you went after my brother with vengeance enough to cause a blood feud. And, of course, there's the fact that my grandfather told me to take an oath to try to kill you. By thinking I could bear that responsibility..."

"No."

"...he labelled me your equal."

"You are too old for it!"

"Approaches, not born,"quotes Sirius."My parents hadn't defied you until last summer. I didn't care about my family until you went after Harry and threw me in Azkaban. You created me, Voldemort. A Black Heredis,and if there is one thing a Black is good at-" he smiles again, nastily,"-it's making things all about themselves.

"So. Let the duel begin."

Sirius fires off a red-colored spell that splashes against a hastily-converted shield from Voldemort, and then they're dueling, actually, really dueling, and Remus cannot breathe for the sheer rage and hope and fear that is sinking deep, deep into his bones.

...

Sirius is faster than Voldemort, for all that he's nowhere near Voldemort's power; but that won't do him any good in such a limited area. No. The real advantage that Sirius has is how he knows Voldemort's duelling style: the flashy use of power, meant to humiliate as much as defeat. The over-reliance on transfiguration over charms. And, of course, how Voldemort hates being lesser than anyone else.

They've made him angry.

Time to see if it's going to pay off.

Sirius dodges, gets on his case; throws a few conjured knives straight at Voldemort's neck that don't get anywhere apart from become transfigured into birds that peck at his arms before Sirius is whirling around, around, tripping over Snape's cloak, driven backwards, dizzy-

He trips and scrambles, finger catching on something, on nothing. His wand has disappeared into the grass. Sirius turns, searching for it, and he sees Voldemort surge forwards, green light spilling from his wand-

-and something leaps up through the air, dark and small, and even as Sirius is hiccuping with abrupt fear there is something exploding before his face, stone turned to dust. He shouts in pain and recoils, only to see:

Peter.

Cowardly Peter, large once more, and not deadbecause Voldemort's avadahit some stone thing he was wearing and shattered that instead of his soul. The sudden rage in Sirius' body isn't tempered at all by Wormtail's show of courage; he growls, low in his throat, and forces himself upright.

"Wormtail," Voldemort bites out. He sounds too surprised to say anything. But Sirius is staring at the blood dripping out of Peter's wrist: the avadanot only shattered the stone, but in doing so cut off his entire hand."Move."

Sirius waits to die. Waits to be sacrificed. Waits, breathless, for Peter's cowardice to manifest yet again. A coward will always join the biggest bully in the yard, and there's no bigger bully than Voldemort. There's nothing to be gained by protecting Sirius, wandless and still blinking the afterimages of that explosion out of his eyes, still prone on the ground.

"No," whispers Wormtail.

Sirius feels his jaw go slack.

...

Not too late to seek a newer world,thinks Peter, legs shaking so hard he doesn't know how he's standing. Ten years spent together, and a lifetime more. Though much is taken, much abides.

That which we are, we are.

God damn James, and Lily, and Sirius, and Remus. What a time to find a backbone.

His hand is gone.His reputation; his friends. Everything he ever was and ever would be. And still he stands in front of the Dark Lord, and he cannot move away from Sirius.

The Dark Lord- Voldemort, Voldemort-Peter has defied him enough to have earned the right to call him by his name, at least- looks more nonplussed than angry, though Peter can sense the rage gathering like stormclouds in the distance.

"Move, you idiotic boy," he says again, lifting his wand high.

And Peter knows he isn't going to be quick enough. He never is. He never will be. But-

(For seven long, long years; for seven happy, happy years: Peter was the front for James and Sirius. The boy too pathetic to be bullied, who'd snivel and grovel while the others planned their actual vengeance. The boy who'd cry, and even as he cried, steal James' wand from the Slytherin's pocket and drop it back into James' waiting hand for a jinx.

Oh. Seven years. A lifetime's training.

Everything he's ever done in all his life: for this one moment.)

-Peter knows who is.

His wand drops from nerveless fingers angled just an inch backwards and he throws himself towards Voldemort, fingers transforming into claws, rat features taking over. And Voldemort howls. He twists, then, and bats Peter out of the air- Peter hits the side of the ward circle and falls into the grass, ribs aching.

He can only hope, can only hope,but no: Sirius still looks dazed. The wand is in the grass, almost in his palm but not quite.

Merlin, no,thinks Peter, horrified.

"Say goodbye, Sirius Black," hisses Voldemort. He slashes down, and green light spurts out of his wand like some terrible fountain, and Sirius keels over.

No no nonononononono-

"Come out, Wormtail," Voldemort sings out, turning unerringly to where Peter is cowering."Come outI said!"

His spell grabs Peter and drags him out of the grass. He whimpers, high in his throat, and gasp-screams at the pain in his wrist when he's forced into his human form.

"Look at me, you pathetic excuse of a rat," says Voldemort."I will kill you. Slowly. You think- you think you can betray me, you think you can get away with trying to betrayme, when I've given you everything you've ever wanted, you foul, loathsome, magicless little worm? I will whittle you apart. I will use your bones to feed my pets and then I'll make you grow some more so you can feel that pain, and just when you get used to it I'll killyou so slowly you'll-"

"-die?" asks a voice that Peter was certain he'd never hear again.

He blinks. He cannot see anything other than Voldemort, but-

But then he can, because Voldemort shifts away, eyes wide and shocked, and Sirius is standing, Peter's wand tight in his grip.

There's blood streaming from his nose and he looks terrible, but he's alive, and he shouldn't be, because- because Peter saw,didn't he? He saw Sirius die. He saw the avadahit him.

"You," hisses Voldemort."You should be dead."

His wand slashes up: a streak of red, something that makes Peter flinch with remembered memory; Sirius doesn't even get the chance to shield against it before it hits him- and nothing happens.

Sirius smiles, teeth shining red. "Probably. But I'm not."

Voldemort keeps sending more spells towards Sirius, each more vicious than the last. But Sirius keeps stepping forwards, ignoring Voldemort's spells as if they're just color-change charms. And then he's close to Voldemort, and his wand- Peter's wand- is high in his hand, and he says, voice too low for anyone but Peter to hear: "Avada kedavra!"

The green light shatters on Voldemort's chest andhe topples over.

Peter collapses back onto the ward, waiting to feel it, only to thump onto grass instead. Of course: the ward, holding only for long enough for one of them to die. Peter should've known Sirius wasn't dead when the ward circle didn't fall apart; Voldemort hadn't noticed either, but then he'd been so angry at Peter by the end, he probably wouldn't have noticed anything at all.

"You did it," Peter wheezes to Sirius, when he comes over to see him, clambering over Voldemort's corpse."You- Merlin,Sirius, you killed him."

"Yeah, well, it isn't like you didn't help," says Sirius roughly."This is going to hurt."

Peter frowns, struggles limply, but then the spell blazes to life in his wrist, so hot he cannot keep silent for the pain of it. Sirius holds him through it, touch not so much gentle as there,which is more than Peter'd ever hoped for again.

"Cauterization charm," he says by way of explanation, and loops Peter's arm around his neck before hauling him upright."Come on. We're getting you to a healer if it kills me."

"Don't joke about that!" says Peter sharply.

Sirius snorts, and keeps them walking. Peter thinks vaguely that there are things he should be aware of: there's some loud noise, and Sirius is stumbling over things, weaving around others; he thinks there are bright flashes of colors that ought to be more scary to him than they are.

But he feels so cold and tired, and just moving as much as he is leaves him dizzy.Then he remembers what he'd been holding onto for so long:"Snape's alive!"

"What,"says Sirius.

Before Peter can elaborate, Sirius stumbles a little and jams against Peter's wrist, and the pain bolts straight up his hand to his skull. It's all too much, abruptly: the pain, the fear, the depths of emotions that Peter's plumbed over the past hour.

The darkness of unconsciousness wraps around him like a shroud, like a blanket, and Peter welcomes it.

...

There's an immense amount of work to be done. Lily comes back to herself while she's sitting on a small pallet, tucked away in Pomfrey's office. She's not entirely sure of how she got there, but she can hear the screams and smell the unique tang of too much magic concentrated in too little a space.

The battle is ongoing. She doesn't understand why, exactly, but it is, and that means she has work to do.

Then she remembers James.

Her thoughts feel like they're swaddled in cotton. Too slow; muffled from reality. Lily can't just throw herself into battle. She has to... find James. She has to save him.

Cleave everything,she thinks, burying her fingers in her hair.

That's how the portkey had done it- because it was stone, and stone is the element that is the separator. Water and air and fire are fluids, but stone is solid,and she'd harnessed it, and in the doing wrecked Hogwarts' wards. But Lily knows the freedom that can come from letting everything go: her last name, her history, her family. James must leave it all behind.

And there's one thing she can help him with while she's still in Hogwarts.

...

"Brakshal," calls Lily.

She's just returning from the battlefield, though it's quickly becoming more like a field of bodies. Most are just unconscious, and even more are Death Eaters, the entire event coordinated and maintained by Remus- who looks both fierce and comforting, in some strange quirk of fate. The sun is still rising, and Lily's got her magic pressed thin with over-use, but she holds.

When people see what she's carrying behind her, they all give way.

"Lily," says Dumbledore, trying to step in front of her- but Lily doesn't look at him."Lily, please, think of-"

"Brakshal!" says Lily again, loudly.

Out of the crowd, pushing and shoving, Brakshal spills out. He eyes her closely, then the corpse behind her, and blanches.

Lily directs Voldemort's body over to him. She doesn't look any different when she drops the Hover Charm, but that's because she hadn't let herself hunch her shoulders on the walk back into Hogwarts, no matter how it felt like she was scraping the very bottoms of her magical reserves.

"My husband's vow," says Lily."It is done and finished."

"Yes," says Brakshal slowly."It is. By deed and word and spirit, it has been upheld."

Lily doessag this time, feeling limp with the sudden rush of relief."Thank you," she says, pressing the back of her palm against her eyes. Then, thoughtfully,"If you'd like to get a portkey to Gringotts, speak to Headmaster Dumbledore. He'll get you one."

It's presumptuous and irritating and rude, and Lily cannot care. She pauses, instead, and takes stock of her world: Sirius is in the infirmary, with Peter and Severus- all three alive through some miracle- but they're going to be safe there; Remus is overseeing the binding and control of the Death Eaters captured and loyal to Voldemort and likely needs assistance, but Lily'd likely be more of a liability than an asset with her head as fucked as it is; Harry's still in Surrey with Petunia, and she'll go to pick him up tomorrow; everyone else is...

Fine.

Lily's brought down the wards around Hogwarts because she's afraid for James. Lily's cleaved James of everything. All that's left is to go to him. To hold him, and remind herself that for all her terror, he's alive. She's so tired,and so fucking tired of beingtired, and she knows of only one place where she'll feel okay.

She apparates away, to the little cottage James' family had made in south Cornwall. The sky is still dark there, and James is asleep in the bed she'd assigned the portkey to, and she forces herself to make her way over to it, to sit beside him and curl over his arm, still marred with that terrible, terrifying rune.

Lily cries. She cries until she runs out of tears, then she eats some food, then she washes her face and returns to James, and she can't quite bear seeing him like a still, frozen corpse any longer. She curls over on the bed instead, wrapping herself in his body.

What has Lily left in this world?

Who will bear the burdens without James beside her? How can she continue without him, so warm, so tall, so fierce and steady and proud and good? How can she even imagine that?

Still crying, shaking with the tears, she sinks into his embrace.

It is sleep that claims her, so fast she doesn't even know to name it.

...

James wakes up to an ache in every bone of his body. There's hair spread across his face; there's an itch on his elbow; he can feel the tingles of something heavy across his arm.

He turns- it hurts,but he has to know- and sees Lily, collapsed on his chest, fast asleep.

"Lils," murmurs James. Lifts his hand and drops it over her hair. Cards through the thick, soft strands. He feels like butter left too long in the sun, or tea on the edge between hot and lukewarm. Perfect, wobbly, quivering. Stupidly, infuriatingly, entirely in love. "Oh, Lily."

...

She wakes to a weight on her head, breath warm on her cheek, and Lily smiles, smiles, smiles, before sleeping once more.

...

The next time he wakes up, Lily's awake too. She's staring at the ceiling. The room is painted golden; the windows face east, so it's sunrise.

"The second dawn," says Lily quietly. She wraps her arm around James and guides him up, resting on her weight."After Voldemort's death."

"We did it," says James, surprised.

He hadn't known. He'd suspected, but not known,and that makes more of a difference than he'd thought it would.

"Well," says Lily, sending him that look again, all lashes and glitter-green."Not us, exactly. Sirius. And Peter." She bites her lip."Sirius, with Peter's wand."

"No shit."

Lily snuggles up to him, and she's smiling helplessly, widely, brilliantly.

"What happened to the prophecy?" asks James, slumping back with a laugh."Got chucked up, did it?"

"Nobody's as self-centered as a Black," says Lily, shrugging, still not looking away from him."He thought he'd make the prophecy about himself, and he twisted it up until he did, and then he managed to finish it. Merlin, it was fucking terrifying. Voldemort tried to kill him- didhit him with avada-but Sirius just got back up. It was. Amazing. Horrifying. But amazing."

"And me?"

"I had to," says Lily, quieter."You have to believe that. I had to. The axe was killing you. It wouldn't stop until it used up all of your magic. I wasn't sure that I wasn't too late, not until you woke up now."

"So you... did what?"

"There was a portkey I used. One of the horcruxes. That first one- the ring- had a stone on it. It had power even after you blasted it out, becauseyou blasted it out, and I used that to... well. Build a portkey that couldn't be stopped. By any ward."

"And that stopped the axe's magic?"

"Yes." Lily exhales slowly."It also broke Hogwarts' wards down, to get you out."

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

She looks worried. Afraid. Tired. And this is the morning after Voldemort's death,James isn't going to let Lily look like that any longer. Not when they've got everything they've ever wanted.

"How much am I going to have to pay for that?" he asks, reaching out to press the tips of his fingers against her eyebrows.

Lily looks at him, startled, before smiling again: shyly, smaller, truer."Not as much as you'll have to pay Gringotts."

"Ah." James snorts."Brakshal?"

"Taken care of."

"Harry?"

"I'll pick him up tomorrow." Lily stretches over him, and pulls him closer, wraps herself around him. She presses her words against his neck. "I- there was a battle after Voldemort died. The Death Eaters fighting back, I suppose. I couldn't do it, though, not with you gone. Not without you. I just sat there, and- and then people got me out of the way, but I couldn't fight."

"Lils," says James, very quietly.

"Not without you," says Lily.

"I can't imagine what I'd do if I had to do that," says James. He's not telling anything more or less than the truth."I'm so sorry- oh, love, I know, it must've been-"

"Terrible!"

"I know," says James soothingly, pressing his hand against whatever skin he can get."I know. I should've seen it. That axe wasn't- great."

Lily leans backwards, spreads herself over the bed."That," she says,"is the understatement of the fucking century."

"I'm okay now, though?"

"It got closer to killing you than Voldemort did," says Lily flatly.

"Well. In that case..."

"Merlin, I married a- a- I don't even know whatto call you-" Lily cries it into her pillow, pressing it over her face, only for James to flop over it so he's properly suffocating her and muffling the outraged cry from her end.

When she peeks over it to him, James grins down at her.

"Nah, Lils," he says."Just me."

Her face softens, and she reaches up to trace a finger over his features.

"I know," says Lily."And I wouldn't trade that for anything."

...

In one world, James dies, brave, young, stalwart and true. Father and friend; Marauder and auror; Order member and pureblood. Lily dies in front of her son, terrified, quivering, screaming. Sirius hunts and is captured; Remus is left friendless; Peter spends twelve years drowning in self-loathing.

In another world, James dies old and loved, son's hand warm in his and Lily's tight in the other.

...

In one world, James dies wandless and terrified.

In another, he lives.

...

Never doubtthat a smallgroup

of thoughtful,committed citizens

can change the world;

indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.

Afterword

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!