A/N – Sorry this took so long, but my life has been incredibly busy, and not entirely in a good way. I swear the next part will be up very soon, and the parts after that should follow fairly quickly, now that I've gotten over my writer's block. Well anyway, enjoy this part; I'm going to go work on the next part now!
* * *
"M-Master, I – " Pettigrew stuttered.
"What is it, Wormtail," Voldemort snapped. "I'm busy."
Pettigrew backed up a step in fear. "It's the Potters, my Lord."
Voldemort's pale, thin face assumed a look of interest. "The Potters?" he repeated.
"Yes, my Lord. The Fidelius Charm has been performed, and I am ready to spill their secret for you."
* * *
The Halloween feast was over, and Minerva and Albus were in his study. His Pensieve was on the desk, and Minerva sat before it, staring into it with a look of great concentration.
"Do you see anything?" came Albus' soft query into her thoughts.
Minerva shook her head. "No," she admitted. "I'm too confused to see anything at the moment." She leaned back in her chair and put a hand to her forehead. Her fingers were cool and they felt good. There was silence for a time, until Albus' gentle voice once again reached her ears.
"You ought to go to bed, Minerva. You look exhausted."
Her hand fell away from her face as she sat up and swivelled to look at the older wizard. She said nothing, but her eyes held an almost pleading look.
"What is it?" he asked softly. His light blue eyes seemed to look straight into her soul.
"I – " she stopped, feeling foolish.
"Go on," Albus encouraged her.
"I don't want to sleep alone," she admitted.
His eyebrows went up slightly, but his expression did not change. "Is something bothering you, Minerva?"
"Is something bothering me?" she repeated. "What a stupid question. Voldemort holds a reign of terror over the entire wizarding world, and you ask me if something is bothering me. Well, yes, Albus, something is bothering me. Do you know what it is? People are dying. People are dying and being tortured and families are being ripped apart and there is no end to the discord." Her voice weakened over the next sentence, rising in pain. "I have lost almost all of my friends, Albus – the people that I considered my family of choice. You and Poppy are the only ones left of my close friends, and even Poppy was never a close friend until recently. Before the Dark years began we were no more than acquaintances. We became friends because all the others were dying and we needed someone to befriend. That doesn't mean that I don't love Poppy, but the bond between us isn't the same."
Albus wanted to reach out and comfort her, but he did not; he let her continue. She stumbled on to try to tell him how she felt, and he watched her with non-judgemental love in his eyes.
"You're different, though, Albus. You are – you are more to me than I could ever put into words. I have loved men before in my life, and I have been loved in return, but I have never loved anyone in quite the same way I love you, and no one has ever returned my love quite like you do."
"And what makes our relationship different?" His voice was soft and calm, showing no trace of the tenseness he felt inside or the increased speed of his heart.
"I don't know," Minerva said. "I don't quite know how to say it. You accept me as no one ever has. You have never once, in all the years I've known you, tried to change me in any way. You have only encouraged me to find my path, and for that I thank you."
"There is no thanks needed," Albus murmured. Their eyes meet, dark brown meeting light blue, swirling together and joining in a line of communication that went deeper than words could ever go. For an Eternity they stared into each other's eyes, until finally Albus said, without taking his eyes from Minerva's, "But to return to the original question, is there something in particular that you are frightened of? Why don't you wish to sleep alone?"
"To be honest with you," Minerva said, as if she could have been anything else with him viewing her heart through her eyes, "I have been having horrible nightmares lately. They are never quite the same, but usually you are tortured and killed in front of my eyes, and I am powerless to stop it. I don't wish to wake from seeing that again without you beside me."
"I will not, of course, deny you," Albus said, "But was there anything else?"
"I haven't been sleeping well lately," Minerva admitted. "I can't seem to stop thinking – it's become like a curse that keeps me from sleeping."
"A simple Sleeping Potion would cure that."
"Yes, but I don't feel safe going into a drugged sleep when I'm alone."
Albus stood up and held his hand out to her. "Then come, Minerva. It grows late."
* * *
Harry Potter gurgled happily deep in his small throat as he sucked hungrily at his mother's nipple. James, sitting next to them with his arm around Lily, reached out and ruffled his son's fuzzy black covering of hair. Lily sighed contentedly. Her thoughts were on her small son and his future. Did he even have a future?
"James," she said suddenly, "What would you do to give Harry a future?"
James sat up straighter, startled by the question. "Why, everything I could," he replied.
Lily snaked a look sideways at him. "Including give your life?" she probed.
"Do you doubt it?"
Their eyes locked, vibrant green facing a deep, grayish blue. After a moment, Lily shook her head.
"No."
Silence fell between them again, a loving, trusting silence, full of faith. Harry had stopped suckling and was nodding off in Lily's arms. She gathered him up and stood.
"Shall we put him to bed, James?"
James stood too, and together the little family set off down the hallway towards the nursery.
* * *
Sirius Black couldn't sleep; he was too restless. He tossed and turned until he couldn't stand it anymore, then he got up and paced around his small apartment with his hands clasped behind his back. His brain was working furiously, and his heart began to pound as he considered the implications of everything he knew.
"Perhaps the owl was intercepted," he muttered to himself. "Or maybe he never sent one at all." Yes, that would be it; Wormtail was so forgetful sometimes. He had probably just forgotten to owl Sirius and let him know that everything had gone well and he was safely in hiding.
The clock read 11:29, but Sirius couldn't stand the not knowing. He seized a cloak, threw it over his shoulders, and Disapparated into the night.
* * *
Peter Pettigrew stood, trembling, in a room in Voldemort's British headquarters.
Please God, he prayed without much hope that the Lord could hear him, Forgive me. I didn't have a choice – he would have killed me.
Just then Voldemort himself swept into the room. He wore a black, billowing cloak, and his wand rested lightly in one long, white hand.
"Are you ready, Wormtail?" he snarled impatiently.
"Y-Yes, my lord," Wormtail stuttered.
'Then come," Voldemort hissed, "To Godric's Hollow."