This is where the fun begins.

Yup-this is the start of the secondary story within the story, the introduction of the important OCs and a bit more color to an already outstanding story as presented in Goblet of Fire. So-enjoy!

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Star Wars: Jedi Wasteland (Complete)

Star Wars: New Order (In-Progress)

Chapter Four: The Request

[Saturday, 20 August 1994]

She looked as though she hadn't a good night's sleep in years. Between the frayed black hair that was held up in a weak, half-complete ponytail and the dark green eyes hidden beneath her bangs, her face looked downright exhausted. Her robes were half-buttoned and wrinkled, as though she may have attempted—and failed—to sleep in it. Perhaps it was the growing shadows announcing the advancing progress of the late evening, or perhaps it was the look about her face, but there was something dark and haunted about the woman's appearance.

Laurel Evergreen failed to stifle a yawn as she gave her wand a wave and sent a group of goblets to a great cabinet standing on the far side of the room. So tired she was that the last of the gleaming silver goblets fell from the cabinet, and only with a second wave of her wand was she able to keep it from smashing into the wooden floor. She waved the goblet to its proper spot and gave her a head a sad shake.

By Merlin she felt exhausted!

As if to emphasize this, she closed her eyes and instantly she felt the embrace of sleep beckoning to her. She was standing up, yes, yet so exhausted was she that, for but a moment, she felt as though she could easily fall asleep as she stood.

And then, quite from nowhere, a tanned, grizzled face dominated by a glass right eye and a pointed, brown goatee appeared. His crazed, deep laugh rang in her ears, and her grip on her wand tightened to such an extent that crimson sparks issued from its tips. His surviving eye, the same color as a fresh Chocolate Frog, glinted with a lethal intent that would, she knew, haunt her for the rest of her life.

And that was it.

She opened her eyes, and though she still looked dark and haunted, Laurel was very much awake.

Again, she shook her head.

Voldemort was gone, had been for nearly 13 years, now. With his disappearance had come the arrest of the core of his supporters, the Death Eaters who had nearly conquered the wizards of Great Britain.

"No." A soft, disembodied voice seemed to whisper from within her very mind. "Not all of his greatest lieutenants were captured, as you know too well. He is still out there, somewhere, waiting, plotting. You know it, don't you? Coming soon, the time is. Yes—"

It was now that a loud CRACK! did rent the air, and even as she moved into the sitting room and then towards the front door of her sprawling home, she had a feeling she knew who her visitor was, yet she did so hope that she was wrong.

Surely, in his infinite wisdom, he knew better. Surely, he knew that she was no longer the woman she'd once been. Surely, he agreed that she deserved—had even earned—a rest, a reprieve, from the duty of fighting the growing darkness.

As she opened the door, however, she knew her initial instincts had been correct. He wore, as he so often did, robes of dark violet that matched his pointed wizard's hat. His silver hair and beard were even longer than they'd been the last time she'd seen him, easily capable of being tucked into his belt. The grandfather-like face was already surveying her ragged appearance from behind those familiar half-moon spectacles, and even now, as a woman grown, she had that suspicion that his icy blue eyes were looking into the depths of her very soul.

Laurel gave a slight nod of her head and the arched, pointed gate swung inward, allowing her visitor—

No.

Visitors.

It was only now that Laurel noticed quite an unusual sight, one she hadn't expected. Trailing behind the ancient man was a great, shaggy dog with fur as black as the night itself. Albus Dumbledore had never seemed to be overt when looking into one's soul, but his four-legged companion made no such efforts to hide it.

No.

Surely not.

It was a simple dog, after all. Surely then, this dog, as large as it was, wasn't studying her with an uncomfortable familiarity she couldn't quite place.

Was it?

"I—"

"No." She answered, cutting the legendary wizard off before he had even the first chance to ask of her the favor she knew was coming. If he was offended, Dumbledore didn't show it. Instead, if anything, he appeared very nearly amused.

"Now—"

"No." She repeated. "I know what you're going to ask, Dumbledore, and—no."

The dog answered with a low, angry growl as it pinned its ears back, baring its great, yellow fangs. Dumbledore, however, placed a hand gently on its head, calming the great beast with incredible ease.

"I understand your exhaustion, Laurel." Dumbledore pressed forward kindly, swayed not by her instant refusals.

"You do, do you?"

"I do. Oh, yes. You have exemplified the qualities of Gryffindor House with excellence. Courage, Dedication, Honor, and Integrity—if I may be so blunt, you are very much your mother's daughter."

Laurel snorted in derisive amusement.

"She is proud of you, Laurel, even if you're unable to see it."

"Yeah—mum and I aren't really on speaking terms, Professor." Laurel answered simply. "Haven't really been since—well, it's been a long time."

"Of course." He answered again. "I understand; we all have ghosts in our closets, after all."

She beckoned her old Headmaster to follow her into her home, as she began to suspect that it would be much more difficult to dismiss his presence than she had initially hoped. The black dog, she noticed from the corners of her eyes, dutifully followed its master across the threshold, and for but the briefest of moments she was sure she'd seen contentment and—

No.

She was surely imagining things, likely a side effect of her exhausted state. Thus, she chose to ignore it and instead offered Dumbledore a seat before she herself dropped into her favorite high-backed chair, sinking into its comforting embrace.

She closed her eyes briefly and did the best she could to collect herself before opening them, addressing the old man once again.

"So then, Professor Dumbledore, what brings you here at this time of day? Surely my mother didn't send you—or is this about Sirius Black?" She asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Either way—"

"Relax, my dear woman, relax. I am here of my own accord—"

"I'm listening." She prodded impatiently, and immediately a twinge of guilt for the rudeness of her words shot through her. Again, she briefly closed her eyes in another attempt to calm and collect herself.

"Professor, I'm sorry. I—"

Dumbledore, however, remained kind as he dismissed her apology. Perhaps, she considered, he knew what was haunting her. Perhaps he knew of the pain she carried with her, even now. Perhaps, just maybe, the elderly wizard knew of the fears consuming her, now more than ever.

"Please, sir—what are you here to ask of me?"

"Laurel, I should consider it a personal favor if you would kindly consent to returning to Hogwarts for the start of term."

"I—you want me to teach?!" She nearly yelped, caught completely off guard by the request. She had, if she were to be honest with herself, expected the man to be reforming the Order of the Phoenix following the escape of Sirius Black. As he'd been discovered to be a chief supporter of the Dark Lord during the War, she had few doubts the man must, even now, be working to bring about Voldemort's return. But—to teach? Suddenly, however, her eyes narrowed.

"I do." He answered happily. "I am quite confident you have much left to offer the school—"

"No."

"No?"

"I—I'm sorry, Professor, but after what I—no. I'm absolutely the last witch you'd want to teach your students. I—"

"I quite disagree."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, sir, but still, I must refuse—"

"Laurel—"

"No." She again repeated. "I'm sorry, Professor, I'm not the woman I once was. I fell too far. My intentions may have been noble, but the fact remains; I can't teach students how to defend themselves against Dark Magic when—"

Dumbledore, however, chuckled serenely, driving her into silence once again.

"It is not the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts that I wish to hire you to."

"It—it isn't?"

The frown upon her once-gentle features seemed to grow. The Daily Prophet was generally on top of post vacancies at Hogwarts, as it had been with the announcement that Remus Lupin, now known to be a werewolf, had vacated the position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts. However, that alone had been the sole staffing vacancy announced, which meant that every other position at the school would be filled.

So, then—what was Albus Dumbledore up to, she wondered.

"I trust I can count on you to keep a secret, particularly from your son?"

"Rowan?" She asked uncertainly. "I—of course, why?"

"The Ministry is concerned about the news leaking before they've the chance to officially announce it."

"What news?"

"Hogwarts has been bestowed the great honor, this year, of hosting the Triwizard Tournament."

Laurel nearly jumped from the surprise of his words. She could not help herself. How could she?

"You mean the tournament that's been defunct for over two hundred years because of its notoriously-high death rate? The same tournament that has, every single time it's been held, seen countless injuries and at least one Champion dead?"

"I assure you, this year we've taken several new precautions to ensure the tournament does not repeat its bloody history. The three students chosen to participate shall be as safe as we can possibly make them."

"Forgive me, sir, but I'm sure they said the same thing in 1792." She explained, remembering the story she'd once read in Hogwarts: A History. Dumbledore's smile, however, never faltered, never weakened.

"Which, I think, brings us to the true reason for my visit." He responded. "You know well the dangers the tournament threatens."

"I do, yes. Merlin, I think most—"

"Even our greatest precautions are not without their weaknesses. I'm inviting you, Laurel, to return to Hogwarts and teach our young students the arts of Magical Healing that you have so excellently mastered. To be honest, I daresay it's a class we should have instituted a long time ago."

Her mouth was ajar, her mind momentarily blank. He wanted her to teach Healing. To teach students how to tend to and care for magical injuries. She quickly shook her head, both to answer his request and to clear her thoughts.

"What about Madame Pomfrey? Surely—"

"While she is unquestionably suited to teach the subject, I fear her duties as Matron keep her much too busy to actually teach."

"Like I said, Professor—I'm not the woman I once was. I—"

"Oh come off it, Evergreen." A hoarse voice croaked. "She would be disappointed in you, you know?"

This.

More than anything else thus far, the sound of this voice, both familiar and alien all at once, drew a reaction from the woman. Laurel flew to her feet, and suddenly the haunted, exhausted look on her face was gone. Now, anyone who hadn't known her would likely find themselves fearing their safety. Rage and pure fury seemed to make her look younger by a full decade. With impossible speed, her hands had pulled her wand from the depths of her robes, where she'd stored it upon Dumbledore's arrival.

The great, shaggy dog was gone, as though it had never existed. She had never heard it walk off. Had never heard it leave.

Now, in its place, stood a tall, gaunt-faced man crowned by unkempt black hair that was, for the moment, obscuring his grey eyes. He looked nothing like the proud, handsome man she remembered, but rather a walking skeleton hiding beneath a layer of skin. He looked, she noted, much like she often felt.

She quickly shuffled those feelings down inside of her. Instead, she focused on the here and now. The one thing she knew had to be done.

The only thing that had to be done.

She allowed her hatred and fury to flow freely through her, to fuel her in a way that she had tried, for the better part of fifteen years, to deny. To refuse.

Her mouth opened.

"Avada—"

He never spoke. She never saw his wand appear in his hand. Even as he remained seated, Albus Dumbledore also remained as calm as ever. Before her curse, that dreadful, illegal curse, could finish its escape from her mouth, her wand was suddenly flying out of her hand and into his own.

"Dumbledore—"

"I fear, Ms. Evergreen, that you're yet holding onto misplaced anger."

"Misplaced anger?" She snapped, wheeling on Dumbledore, now. "MISPLACED ANGER! He," She emphasized, jerking a finger towards Sirius Black. "Betrayed my best friend. He betrayed us all—"

"James and Lily Potter were betrayed by someone they thought to be a friend, yes, but it wasn't Sirius."

"There were witnesses, Dumbledore! There—"

"Unfortunately, those witnesses were deceived."

"Impossible—"

"We switched." Sirius explained quietly. She refused to turn to meet his gaze.

"What do you mean?"

"The Fidelius Charm. James and I felt it would be too obvious that I was the one they'd choose to be their Secret Keeper, so at the last minute we switched."

"So you weren't their Secret Keeper?"

"He was not, no."

"Then who—"

"Peter." Sirius answered simply. "It was Peter."

"Peter? Peter Pettigrew?! The friend you murdered, in cold blood, when he confronted you over what you'd done?"

Now she turned to face the friend she'd once known, and even without a wand, she advanced towards him. This caused him, perhaps subconsciously, to take a single step back.

"So now, not only have you murdered your friend but you seek to blame him for your crime?!"

"I—"

"The Sorting Hat was wrong."

"Wh—"

"You're no Gryffindor, you coward. Hell, you're not even worthy enough to be a Slytherin."

What little color had been in his face drained, and now a rage to match her own was starting to creep into his features. For but the briefest of moments, she half-expected him to draw his wand and curse her. Instead, however, he turned away, as though to compose himself. As he did so, she seemed to miss the look of pained sorrow that extinguished his rage.

"Laurel, Sirius did not betray James and Lily to Lord Voldemort. As Sirius has explained, the true traitor was Peter Pettigrew."

"That's not possible." She answered. "Witnesses saw Sirius kill Peter. Blasted him apart, didn't he? All they ever found was—"

"A finger." Dumbledore answered softly. "A finger Peter himself cut off and left behind, to prove he'd died."

"That's completely mental, sir." She said, at last turning back to face Dumbledore once more. "If Peter really did fake his own death, then where's he been hiding all these years?"

Dumbledore seemed to have expected this very question. Instead of speaking, he instead reached into his robes, and when his hand withdrew, it held within its grasp what appeared to be a clipping from a newspaper. He handed it to her, now, and she slowly, almost fearfully, opened it to examine it closer.

She moved beyond the headline and ignored the article itself, instead choosing to focus her attention on the image that seemed to dominate the article. A rather large family, each of them smiling widely for the photo, stood before a pyramid in the sands of Egypt. When the image seemed to answer nothing for her, she then perused the article, itself describing how Arthur Weasley had won seven hundred galleons from The Daily Prophet's annual Grand Prize Galleon Draw. It spoke of how the family used most of the gold for a trip to Egypt, where their son worked as a Gringotts Curse-Breaker. Yet even the article did nothing to clarify things for her.

"What's this on about, now? I'm missing—"

"The rat." Sirius answered, his voice nearly a growl.

"What?"

"The rat. In the picture—"

She ignored the rest of his words as she instead returned her attention to the image of the Weasley Family. This time, however, she noticed the thing she hadn't noticed before. In the possession of one of the younger Weasley boys was what looked to be a common rat. Her brows furrowed as Dumbledore asked if she noticed anything unusual.

"No, I—"

Her words, like Sirius's, faded into nothingness. No sooner had that first word escaped her mouth than she realized that she did, in fact, notice something unusual. The rat, she could just barely see, was missing a single toe. Just one. Just like—

She jerked her head up at Dumbledore once more.

"You don't mean—"

"Peter, like James and Sirius, was an unregistered animagus." Dumbledore answered gently. "A skill they mastered while still at Hogwarts."

"You're mental." She answered. "Absolutely mad, I say."

"As I've been told before." Dumbledore chuckled. Laurel, however, remained stone-faced as she refused to believe what she'd been told.

"You mean to tell me that three underage wizards, from the same House, in the same Year, managed to secretly become unregistered animagi, and you, the greatest wizard in centuries, had no idea. Mental. Completely mental."

Dumbledore laughed again before explaining how it had happened, how James Potter had led Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew into becoming unregistered animagi. She listened as he explained the selfless intent behind it, to comfort and aid their friend, Remus Lupin, so that he might not have to endure his hidden curse on his own.

The more Dumbledore spoke, the less and less she wanted to believe it. It did, she confessed, sound completely and utterly mad. Yet, as much as she hated to believe it, the more he talked, the more some of Sirius and James's escapades in school seemed to suddenly make so much more sense, seem so much clearer than they had before.

And, as much as she hated making such a confession, James Potter would never have doubted any of his friends, no matter how weak or small they seemed. He had trusted them all as he had trusted the woman he'd loved, had trusted even friends, even her best friend. She had no doubt that if Sirius had proposed they make Pettigrew their Secret Keeper instead while he himself acted as a decoy, then James, she knew, would never have had a second thought.

"How?" She asked, her voice quiet, reserved. "How did you find out?"

Dumbledore began to speak, but Laurel held up a hand, silencing him immediately. "Forgive me, Professor, I mean no disrespect, but—"

"Of course, my dear—I understand completely."

"Sirius." She almost whispered. "How did you find out?"

At first, he remained silent, and for a moment she expected he might not answer. Then, however, he spoke, his voice only just audible. She listened as he explained how he'd obtained a copy of The Daily Prophet from Cornelius Fudge during his visit to Azkaban. She listened as he spoke of how he realized how close the incognito Pettigrew was to Harry, and how he realized the traitor was poised to strike if Voldemort did indeed return to power.

She continued listening, then, as he then explained his escape from Azkaban, his journey to Hogwarts, his failed attempt to enter Gryffindor Tower, and then his near-success at killing Peter after he'd obtained the password to the Gryffindor Common Room.

And then explained to her the events that had occurred, mere months ago, in the Shrieking Shack. He spoke of how he had convinced not only Remus Lupin but Harry and his two friends of his innocence, how they had forced Pettigrew to reveal himself, how the traitor had eventually confessed, how he and Remus had been prepared to kill Peter for his sins—

And how Harry, so very much like his father, had stopped them. Had stopped them from crossing lines she herself, once his mother's friend, had crossed. How he had spared the man responsible for the deaths of his mother and father.

And how Remus, having forgotten to drink his Wolfsbane Potion, had transformed, and how, during the ensuing chaos, Pettigrew had escaped.

When he finished, Laurel knew. She knew, as sure as she knew anything—she knew that she believed him. She collapsed back into her seat, her legs suddenly unable to support the weight of her slender form.

"So, Peter's alive."

"He is." Dumbledore answered simply.

"And he's returning—if he hasn't already—to Voldemort's side."

"I'm afraid so."

"I see."

Now it all made sense. This, she knew, was the true reason he wanted her back at Hogwarts. With Peter's secret revealed, returning to Lord Voldemort was the only way he would survive for long. And, while she'd never seen Peter as anything more than a kind—but cowardly—toe rag, he had been clever enough to frame Sirius for the betrayal of James and Lily, and to then escape and go into hiding for over a decade.

Yes, Peter Pettigrew might be a weak coward, but he was just clever enough to find the Dark Lord, and if Voldemort had help, it would make his return to power that much easier.

Sirius, now, turned and faced her, and without meaning to, she recoiled ever so slightly under his frozen, angry glare. He said nothing, but in his shallow eyes she could see the accusation. The knowledge. The hidden truth that had helped to break her so completely.

He had been right. Sirius had said "She would be disappointed in you…", and he'd been correct. Lily Evans would, she suspected, absolutely detest the woman she'd become. Would she, she asked herself, even recognize her if she could see her now.

Dumbledore, not for the first time, seemed to be aware of her thoughts, for in his eyes she could see a twinkle of understanding, and of sympathy. To her mild surprise, however, it was Sirius whose voice broke the silence.

"We've both failed them." He explained. "Lily trusted you to care for Harry as much as James trusted me. They were our best friends, yet we couldn't be there when Harry needed us."

She shook her head. "I imagine you sent him to Petunia, Dumbledore?"

She'd never, not once, thought to ask Dumbledore where he'd sent her godson. She'd been so consumed by her own ghosts, her own failures, her own demons, that she had utterly abandoned her best friend and her family, the devastation of the Potters only further crushing her.

"I did." He answered. "It is where he is safest."

Sirius, now, snorted, and Laurel felt immense gratitude, for his abhorrence of that sentence perfectly matched her own.

"Respectfully, sir, I disagree; I've met Petunia, and that git husband of hers. Merlin's Beard, I'm even surprised they agreed to raise him in the first place. They'll certainly not have been kind or loving to him."

"I do not expect either of you to understand. However, despite their neglect, so long as their house is his home, he is further protected from Voldemort and his followers."

"I—"

"However, when Lord Voldemort does return—and perhaps even before—Harry will be in considerable danger."

Now, Laurel voiced her silent understanding of Dumbledore's offer of a job. "My being there to teach students how to heal magical injuries is secondary; you want me there to protect Harry."

Dumbledore nodded. "It is time, Laurel, for you to remember to live. No action you take can change the past. It's done. Accept that. Learn from it. It is not our mistakes that define us, but rather, how we move from them."

"Laurel," Sirius spoke up. "I can't be there for Harry at Hogwarts, not when I'm the second-most wanted wizard in the country. Voldemort has found him twice in three years—"

"He's what?! I—wait." She paused, now remembering some of the stories her sole son had told her regarding events at Hogwarts. "You mean—that business with Quirrell, and the Chamber of Secrets—those were Voldemort's doing?"

Dumbledore simply nodded, before adding "Harry is every bit his parents' son, as brave as James and as talented as Lily, but yes, it was Voldemort."

"Laurel," Sirius repeated. "I can't be there for Harry, not right now, but you can."

"I wish that were so—"

"It is."

"It isn't." She argued. "Sirius, you don't know what happened—"

"Yes, I do."

"No—"

"Yes," He repeated firmly. "I do. I've heard the stories from those who were sent to Azkaban. I know what you did, and it was right. He was too far gone—"

"I tortured him. I hated him, and I made him feel it. I wanted it. I enjoyed it."

"Reckon I would've done too, had it been me."

"You don't mean that."

"I do." Sirius corrected. "And Lily would too, if she were here."

"No—"

"He crossed lines." Sirius reminded her. "He crossed lines even Voldemort never crossed, committed crimes even He would never commit."

"You're only Human." Dumbledore reminded her kindly. "However great our talents in the arcane arts of magic, we are only human, after all."

"He's right. The man you loved became the monster you were fighting, and you gave into your emotions. It happens—"

"I have a son, Sirius." Laurel answered. "Rowan, he's the same year as Harry, and—I love him, I really do, but there are times that I see so much of his father in him that it terrifies me. I don't just mean his empathy or his penchant for finding trouble at the most inopportune time, but—his mind. His fascination with an innate understanding of magical artifacts, particularly those with darker natures. His unending , he doesn't possess his father's penchant for curses or combat-related magic, but still, he's skilled enough, and there are days where I see more Declan and less Rowan. What if I fail him, too? I lost my husband—I wouldn't survive losing Rowan, too."

"I—"

"Mum!"

Several things, now, happened at once. She could hear the opening of the front gate, and immediately, Sirius Black was gone, replaced once more by the great shaggy dog, his disguise complete and perfect.

Mere moments later, the front door slammed open with a bang, and a boy of fourteen came bounding, quite excitedly into the door. His hair, a dark shade of chestnut, clung to the sweaty sides of his face, though his bright, brown eyes remained clearly visible.

"Mum, can—"

His excitement, however, died away instantly as the tall, stocky teenager only just now recognized the visitor now standing in his sitting room. The color in his face briefly drained away even as a second teen, a short, chubby-looking young girl several inches shorter than himself, appeared suddenly by his side. She made to move the strands of violet and raven hair from her eyes so that she could better see.

"Blimey, Roe." She whispered as she buried her hands into the pockets of her emerald jumper. "What the blazes have you gone and done now? I mean, that's the bleedin' Headmaster—"

"Haven't the foggiest." He murmured. "Erm—fancy seeing you here, Professor Dumbledore. Listen, sir, if this is about that singing Gobstone I accidentally sent into your office, I promise, I only meant—"

Dumbledore, however, laughed, dismissing his worries. "I quite enjoyed it; it's nice to liven things up now and again."

"I—brilliant, then."

"What's going on, Rowan?" Laurel asked, taking control of what she knew was potentially a precarious situation.

"Mum, I know Tabs and Ben are staying with us after the World Cup, but—well—"

Laurel laughed despite herself, and immediately it struck home for her how rare a sound that had been, as both her son and his best friend seemed completely taken aback by her reaction.

"Roe?" The girl whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember when Professor Lupin made us tackle Boggarts last year?"

"Yeah."

"This was mine." She reminded him as she made to fix the now-lopsided square-shaped glasses on her face.

"Mine too." He whispered back. "I'm terrified."

"Me too."

"Reckon she's under the Imperius Curse?"

"Maybe she's possessed."

"Mum, are—"

"Yes, Serena can stay for tonight, and, as I reckon you were going to ask, the rest of the summer. I take it your parents have decided to take their vacation to Spain, then?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Zannah, Aurora, and Erika should be home soon." She answered, referring to her three daughters. "I'll send them to collect your trunk and things before we eat—unless Skiper returns first, that is."

"Thanks, mum. Come on, Serena—"

"Rowan, do me a favor, if you would be so kind?"

"What?"

"I noticed some Dittany growing down by the river last week; I should like for you two to bring me some of it."

The boy raised an eyebrow but said nothing before leading his friend back out the door, muttering in a low enough voice that his mother could not make out his words.

The moment the door shut, Sirius was back, momentarily watching the door through which the teenagers had just exited.

"He does look exceedingly like his father."

"I got lucky with the girls; they took after—well, they inherited more from my family than his. But Rowan—he is his father's son; I've no question of that."

"Does he know?" Dumbledore asked softly as he, too, allowed his gaze to linger upon the door.

"About Delcan?" She asked. "No."

"You've not told him?" Sirius asked. She shook her head.

"All he knows is that he died during the War. He's asked questions, of course, but I can't handle—he'd never forgive me."

"He might surprise you." Dumbledore countered. "Most of his teachers speak highly of him. Even your mother—"

"Does he know that?" Sirius asked.

"Does he know that his favorite teacher is his grandmother, you mean?" She asked. "No. No, he doesn't. Neither do the girls."

"My dear woman, don't you think it's time to move beyond old grudges?" Dumbledore asked. "It's been nearly two decades—"

"Sixteen years, ten months, and seventeen days." She corrected. "But who's counting?"

"Quite so. Too long, I daresay, to hold onto a grudge. Surely, it's past time that you reconcile your differences."

She didn't tell Dumbledore this, but she'd wanted to. So badly. She had, for so long now, been dying to tell her mother how very sorry she'd been for her words, for her actions. She'd wanted nothing more than to introduce her to her four grandchildren, whom, she knew, the woman would love so very much.

She closed her eyes, now, as a memory floated to the front of her mind. It was one she'd locked away that horrible morning, thirteen years before, when the horrible news had reached her.

Nothing had ever made her appreciate Lily Potter more than her presence here now. As the two women sat under the great Beech Tree that Laurel had so dearly loved, their feet mere edges from the large pond. She knew well the risks Lily, now visibly showing her pregnancy, was taking by being here, even if she did have her husband's invisibility cloak, and again, that made her love her best friend all that much more.

The tears continued their flood down her face, yet the red-haired woman did not speak. She didn't interrupt her best friend's grief, but rather merely held her hand in the kind of support and love that had marked their friendship from its very first day.

When, at last, the tears had begun to weaken their grip upon them, Laurel used her free hand to clean her puffy, reddened eyes.

"Y-you don't understand, Lily." She whispered, unable to meet the woman's kind gaze. "I didn't just kill him—I tortured him. I—the Cruciatus Curse—I enjoyed it, Lily. It made me so happy to seem him suffer like that."

"I under—"

"No!" She shouted, yet even with Lily's start, she never relinquished her hold upon the woman's hand. "Yo—you can't understand, Lily. James Potter's been an arrogant, pompous prat for as long as I've known him, but even so, he's a good man. I know he wants to be out there, fighting this war; it's got to be killing him to be stuck in hiding, but he does it, because of you. He loves you enough that he cares less for himself than he does for you."

"I still know what it's like." She whispered. "To have a friend, someone I care for so much, to choose the wrong path."

She needn't speak the person's name for Laurel to know to whom Lily was referring. She laughed darkly as she again used the back of her free hand to clean her eyes.

"Severus—I still don't see how you were ever friends with that sniveling git. I—"

"Few people understood him." She explained kindly. "I knew him before Hogwarts, before the Death Eaters got hold of him. His life had always been difficult, and being at Hogwarts—I daresay Hogwarts was the first place where he felt truly at home, where he truly felt pride for himself."

"I—"

"It doesn't excuse the man he's become, and I'll never be able to be his friend again, not like I was before, not after all he's done, but I still sympathize with him. I still pity him."

"You think he can be saved?"

"Perhaps. I do hope the day comes when he realizes how wrong he's been and finds some measure of redemption. James reckons I'm mental, but still—"

Laurel, however, nodded her understanding. "Killing Muggles, plotting the genocide of all non-magical persons. Torturing even children with—well, despite his fall, I had hoped I might be able to bring Delcan back. I hoped, so hard—"

"He made his own decisions. So did Severus. Nothing we can do will ever change that. I rarely agree with Crouch, but he was right; you were emotionally distraught and unable to control yourself; it's horrible you had to endure it, but imagine the lives you've saved."

She shook her head, but now, Lily didn't relent.

"You stood up to one of the most powerful dark wizards alive, and you stopped him. You knew your chances were narrow, yet you still took the chance, and only three days after Rowan was born! I—If it had been me having to stop James—I don't know that I could've done. I would hope I could, but—"

The conversation would continue for hours more, as the darkness of the night now fully engulfed the landscape. Finally, the women both climbed to their feet before Lily made to embrace her friend.

"You are strong, Laurel, even if you can't see it. You're brilliant, and powerful, and kind, and I know if something ever happens to James and me, you'll watch over Harry—well, you and Sirius."

"Black?!"

Lilly laughed. "James and I agreed; Harry could have no better godfather than Sirius, nor a better godmother than you."

Lily must have seen the look of revulsion in her eyes, for she laughed all the more as she made to collect her borrowed Invisibility Cloak from the ground beneath the proud, magnificent tree.

"I know you don't much care for Sirius, but think of the alternative should something happen to James and me; could you imagine Petunia and Vernon raising Harry?"

The two women's laughter seemed to echo in her ear as she returned her attention to the present. Lily had always seen the best in her friends and had seen more in Laurel than she herself had ever given herself credit for.

"Perhaps you're right, sir." She said finally. "Especially as, I reckon, we'll be working together."

Sirius's eyes seemed to light up at the news.

"So, you'll take the job, then?"

She nodded as Dumbledore, at last, stretched out his hand to return her wand to its rightful owner. "I failed mum. I failed Delcan. I failed Lily. I can't change that. But I can make sure her sacrifice wasn't in vain. Harry's going to need all the help he can get, especially if—when—Voldemort returns."

And for the first time in over a decade, Laurel Evergreen was alive.

She was back.

So, thoughts? Feel free to leave a review and let me know.