Two weeks later, Remus left.
James, Peter, and Sirius stood outside of the Potter house to say their goodbyes. Lily was on the porch, her arms crossed like she was fighting back a chill.
In the last fleeting weeks of summer, Remus had become increasingly guarded. James had gone to wake him half a dozen times over the last month to find his bed empty and unused. When confronted, Remus was coy about his whereabouts, claiming a desire to "give Lily and James space". No one bought it, but no one could get a word out of him otherwise.
Now he had gotten the idea into his head to disappear for an undetermined amount of time, to God-knew-where, in the midst of a crisis. Peter could not explain it—why would Remus separate himself from the relative safety of the Order with only a handful of supplies and no backup?
"It's only for a little while," Remus assured them, hauling a single, small pack over his shoulder. "I have things I need to do." He was wearing a new light brown traveling cloak; Peter wondered vaguely how he had paid for it.
"Are you sure, Moony?" Sirius' face was closed up; he looked like he was on the verge of an outburst he was desperate to control. "You'd tell us if there was a problem, wouldn't you? And what's with the cloak? You look like my fucking grandmother."
Remus smiled, but it was guarded. "Don't worry, I'll be back for the wedding."
"That's not what we're worried about," James frowned. "We just want you to be safe. You know this isn't a good time to be traveling alone, especially as a member of the Order."
"I'll be fine, Prongsy," Remus reached out to take James's hand in both of his and shook it. "I can't thank you enough for your hospitality." He lowered his voice and affected a conspiratorial tone full of false cheer, ""I'm sure Lily can't wait to be rid of me and have you all to herself again." He looked over James's shoulder and waved jovially at Lily, whose brow creased. She waved back and tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace.
"See that?" Remus said lightly.
"Come off it," Sirius cut in sharply, gripping Remus's arm. "You know she's as worried for you as we are. She wouldn't trade your life for a bit of an inconvenience at home. It's not like they haven't already loaned their house out to the Order."
Remus disengaged himself gently from Sirius's grasp. "I don't want to fight—not about this. Not when there are many more important things to be fighting for. You can't stop me from going."
Sirius snorted and turned away. He pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit it, taking a deep pull. "Fucking stubborn werewolves," he muttered.
"Is there anything you need from us before you go?" Peter asked, twisting the hem of his tee shirt with one hand. "Or while you're gone?"
Remus smiled and put a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Don't look so low, Peter. I'll be back soon. Just keep working with the Order and doing your duty and we'll all be fine. I'll be in touch when I can."
Peter was not comforted. James looked stern, and Sirius wouldn't even turn to meet Remus' clouded hazel eyes. Remus shrugged one shoulder. "Goodbye, then."
"See you soon," James said firmly. "And be safe."
"I will," Remus nodded, offering one last warm smile before Disapparating with a crack.
James's shoulders slumped and he shook his head. "Bloody idiot. Always thought he was the responsible one."
"He's lost his bloody mind," Sirius agreed, grinding his cigarette out with the toe of his boot. "Gotta hand it to him, though. He was always good at keeping his mouth shut. Just never thought he'd use that particular talent on us. Where the devil d'you think he's going?"
They all stared at the spot where Remus had stood just a moment before.
"You know, I'm sure he'll be fine." Now James's voice was full of conviction, willing it to be true.
"Yeah," Peter nodded. "He'll be back soon, just like he said.""
Sirius looked skeptical, but he shrugged. "Sure, any day now."
6 October, 1978—The Daily Prophet reports: Celebrated Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore may have ties to a secret government resistance, based in rumors that the headmaster has lost faith in the minister's ability to handle what he feels is "an international emergency". While Dumbledore has indeed expressed severe disapproval of the Ministry's handling of You-Know-Who in recent months, is that enough to drive a well-respected official to organizing a coup? Philanthropist Lucius Malfoy, 24, believes so: "Dumbledore has tried repeatedly to assert his own reckless leadership; he fought the minister's wise choice to discount the panic over these trivial rumors. It wouldn't surprise me at all if Albus got the idea into his head to create a group to lead against the minister. I can only imagine what he's telling his students. The school governors must investigate any inappropriate measures he may be taking. Perhaps the Ministry should take an interest as well." Dumbledore did not return a request for comment.
"Well, this is bloody awful," Sirius said conversationally, turning the newspaper over. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the parlor, surrounded by a handful of Order members who had stopped by to inquire, fruitlessly, about Remus' mysterious departure.
James was seated in a high-backed chair across from Sirius, his hands folded in front of his stern mouth, wand cradled in the crook of his elbow.
Lily was fidgety. One moment she was balanced on the arm of James' chair, the next she was walking to the embroidered velvet curtains to pick off imaginary fuzz. Out the window, the greyish sky was broken by pockets of cold sunshine.
Dorcas was draped over the chaise Sirius was leaning against, a hand clasped firmly over her eyes. "I think I'm getting a migraine."
"It's not that bad," Marlene McKinnon ventured. She was perched on the edge of a footstool and nibbling her thumbnail. "After all, they didn't say much about us at all. It seems like they were more interested in letting Lucius Malfoy say rude things about the Headmaster." She wrinkled her freckled nose.
"That wanker," James frowned. He twisted his wand in his hand, throttling an imaginary throat. "He's just trying to throw them off the scent! Make people think twice about Dumbledore—about if their worry is even real! Sneaky bastard."
Sirius shook the paper and peered closer. "McLaird made a comment about Dumbledore: 'Minister McLaird assures our correspondent that Dumbledore has no designs on overthrowing the current administration: "Albus is a loyal servant of the ministry, and has been for years. He is every inch a public servant, and he has fulfilled his duties admirably."'
"Well, that's all right," Peter said, trying to be diplomatic.
Frank Longbottom rolled his shoulders irritably. "Thankfully the Minister is on his side…for now…but we can't be sure that this will last forever. The last thing we need is for the Ministry to start keeping a closer eye on Dumbledore."
Lily was pacing now. "And what about the fact that they're completely writing off the people that have died! How could the Prophet report a story like this after all of the writing they've done on the dead families and the obvious evidence that the Death Eaters are a real threat?!"
"The press is bloodthirsty, Miss Evans."
Moody and Alice were standing in the doorway; Moody's imposing bulk filled the space easily. "'Anything for a story', as they say," he grumbled. "They don't care much about allegiances. Just selling papers. And I wouldn't really be surprised if somebody gave 'em a little incentive to publish this poor excuse for news."
"Do you mean someone paid them to write terrible things about Dumbledore?" Dorcas looked deeply affronted.
"Oh, don't look so shocked," Moody said, settling deeply into the carved chair where Dumbledore usually sat. "That's how these things go in a war."
The younger members exchanged an uncomfortable look. It was one thing to call it a war in your own head or among friends, but to hear it spoken by a real soldier—it seemed much more final when a scarred face was saying the words.
Dorcas peered at the article over Sirius' shoulder. "It says here Dumbledore called it an 'international emergency'. Why can't we just get in touch with some of the other ministries? Couldn't they talk some sense into our officials?"
Moody snorted. "Well, they could, if they gave a damn."
"You mean they don't know what's going on here?" Marlene drew her knees up to her chin, eyes curious.
Alice and Moody shared a look.
"Quite the contrary," Alice started gently. "Dumbledore has reached out to several leaders—"
"Unfortunately, they don't see it as their problem," Frank finished tersely, leaning against the fireplace mantel.
"Why on earth not?" James frowned.
"Well, Potter, to name a few," Moody raised a hand and began to tick off the reasons on his fingers. "It doesn't affect them. It seems cruel, but it's true. How many despots have risen to power without interference from neighboring nations? Secondly, they have their own problems. Just as our problems seem the most urgent and important to us, their own internal issues are the most important to them. Thirdly…well, some of 'em might just realize the danger they'd be putting their people in by helping us."
Peter saw the sense in this, but he also had the sense not to say so.
"Of course, whether they help us or not, the safety of their people will certainly be compromised if Voldemort isn't stopped. Soon."
After a moment of chilly silence, James spoke up. "What can we do?"
Moody smiled, as if he'd heard a mildly amusing joke. "Do? There's nothing to be done—not about the other ministries, that is. As for Voldemort, just follow your orders and be the best witch or wizard you can be." He exchanged a nod with Alice. "Which brings me to why I'm here..."
Moody, as it turned out, had not come to headquarters to offer his political perspective, but to propose extra practice time regarding cursing, hexes, and defensive magic. He enlisted the assistance of Alice Longbottom, who kindly said the study group was open to all members but personally—and privately—recruited those who Moody felt needed a little extra help. Peter was one of them.
Peter didn't mind extra practice so much. It satisfied Sirius and James that he was committed; an active participant in the Order and in the missions. Plus it sharpened his skills, which he had to admit were a bit rusty. James and Sirius had always been fast learners—even if they didn't like to try—and Remus tried so hard he could usually keep up. Peter did not have that luck in either case. Thankfully, his friends were distracted enough by their duties that they didn't have much time to make jokes about his needing to be tutored.
"No shame in it," Moody said resolutely. "I had to retake a Concealment and Disguise exam during Auror training. Botched the Polyjuice Potion so badly I burnt a hole right through the cauldron. A poor housefly sitting underneath got turned into half a—well, let's just say it wasn't pretty. But I learned."
"Don't forget about the time with your wand and your trouser pocket—"
"Yes! Yes. Thank you, Alice!" Moody said loudly, looking flustered. "Now! On to more important matters."
Moody and Alice were a good team. Moody's rough edges were softened in Alice, who was warm and endlessly patient. Once, she had stayed after an Order meeting for five extra hours to help Sturgis Podmore finally speak through his Patronus (the chosen message had been Thank you, Alice).
Mercifully, Peter was not quite at Podmore levels of inadequacy, and he mastered the Blasting Curse without much hassle.
"Well done, Peter! I'm very impressed by your improvement." Alice slung her bag over her shoulder: it had a daisy on it. Her face was glowing pink from dodging minor curses and throwing defensive spells. "I think the last thing we need to work on is adjusting your aim, which we can pick up on after the next meeting. And of course you can owl me if you want some extra practice time. I get Thursdays off from the office, usually. Naturally the Ministry hasn't noticed they need us to fight Voldemort yet," she rolled her eyes. "So my schedule is regular."
"Sure." Peter felt his own cheeks getting pink, but not from the practice.
He knew Alice was married, of course, and several years older than him, but he privately relished the extra hours he got to spend in her cheerful, intelligent company. He stood at the front door and waved as she stepped onto the lawn and Disapparated.
"I see what you're about."
"Sorry?" Peter whirled around, attempting to look like he hadn't just been startled out of his skin. James and Sirius were looking expectantly at him, twin grins of mischief spread across their faces.
"All this time you were looking for an older lady. And married. You sly dog—no, that's me. You sly rat." Sirius patted him on the shoulder and looked out to the spot where Alice had just stood. "She's cute. Nice round—"
"It's not like that." Peter felt himself flushing again. "She's just helping me, that's all."
"But not as much as you'd like her to help you, I bet," James winked. "I'd watch out though. Her husband probably has a license to torture anyone that pervs on his wife."
"I wasn't perving on his wife!" Peter said firmly, closing the front door and stalking past his chuckling friends. "And besides, she could probably hex the daylights out of me without Frank's help."
"I like a feisty woman," Sirius remarked. He and James followed Peter into the kitchen where Lily and Dorcas were sharing a pot of tea.
"What feisty woman?" Dorcas frowned, her teacup stopped halfway to her lips.
"Peter's got a thing for Alice, that's all—oi!" James recoiled, clutching his suddenly sore upper arm. "No need to get upset, Petey. Keep your hands to yourself."
Peter scowled. He hovered by the table, debating whether to sit down or storm off self-righteously and Apparate back to his flat.
He sat down.
