(Note from the author: These are not my characters, my world, and my situations. They all belong to J. K. Rowling, and are protected by copyrights.)

(Note from the author: And so we conclude the Hogwarts years . . .)

Remus had returned from the hospital, very quiet and reformed that next Sunday. Two days after the transformation.
The boys had invited Lily into their room to sit and talk to Remus about the nightmare that she had seen. They thought that it would help her accept him if she heard it from him. Remus had agreed, and Lily had not.
"Come on now," James said, following her back to the dormitory from breakfast, "He's still Lupin. I mean . . . "
Lily turned around to look at him, "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Well," James said truthfully, "We wanted to make sure that you didn't go running of and blow our cover, that's why."
"So you thought that I was the sort of person that would blow your cover, huh?" Lily retorted, "Yeah, you really love me. Tell me all of your secrets. I . . ."
"Hey, I told you, didn't I?" James said, "And because of you, Remus ended up in the hospital wing for the entire weekend."

"Oh, because of me?" Lily said, doubtful.
"Yeah," James said, "You . . . you looked at him like he was some sort of . . ."
"Werewolf?" Lily shouted, "Yeah! That's what he is, James! A werewolf!"
James stared at her, "You know, I thought you'd be more understanding. But you're acting just like Snape did when he found out."
"Snape? Snape knows about him?" Lily said, her face falling.
"Why do you think he hates him so much?"
Lily sighed, and put her hand on her hip, "Fine. I'll talk to him."

Remus was sitting on his trunk, across from Lily. They had been sitting there for an hour. He had told her the entire story about how he had become a werewolf. About the monthly transformations. About how they learned to be Animagi. About Snape.
Everything.
And at the end of it, Lily had just nodded her head solemnly, and said in a very worn voice, "So that myth about werewolves being aware of what they're doing . . . that's a lie, right?"
Remus nodded.
"Oh," Lily said, very small, "Because I swore that you were trying to kill me."
There was a quiet laugh throughout the room, and then Remus reached out to touch her shoulder. She flinched, but let him.
"It's a curse," he said, "But it's brought us a lot of good times. And a lot of good things. And I never would have hurt you if I had been in control."
Lily, now believing him, nodded, and then put her hand on his, "I know," she said, "I know."
"And I'm not giving up," Remus said, not talking to her anymore, but more to an omniscient presence. Possibly the wolf itself, "I'll never give up. He doesn't own me yet. And he never will."
The look of determination in Remus's eyes was honest. He would never let that wolf laugh at him again. He would fight until the moment that he died. He would show that monster. No more scared little Remus. No more freak friend. No more fear.
"And you are never coming back with us again, Lily," Sirius said, interrupting his thoughts.
"That was the last transformation," Remus said sourly, "Some night, huh?"
"Waste of a night, more like it," James said from his spot next to Lily.
There was a silence that cut through the room.
"So I guess that's it," Remus said, "No more Shrieking Shack. No more monthly escapades."
"Yeah," Sirius said sadly, "No more marauding."
The boys seemed mournful as they remembered all of their magical nights in their own world. When nothing stood between them and the world. Now it was gone.
And there was only one more obstacle left.

Dumbledore called the five of them back into the room on the last day of school. Graduation was over. They had received their diplomas, packed their things, and said one last goodbye to their old teachers and classrooms.
Now the only thing left was this meeting with the Headmaster, and then the last train ride home. Never to return again.
Dumbledore looked older as he and Frank Longbottom peered over his desk at them. No one else. Just the two of them. In front of them lay a paper. A contract.
"This is what you will sign," Dumbledore said, "If you wish to join. Once you sign this, you will be bonded to the other members. And to each other. Remus Lupin, please rise."
Remus was the first to stand, and take the long feathered quill from Frank's hand. He leaned over the desk, and wrote all of his dreams away.
No teaching. No schooling. No students.
Nothing except the Order.
"Sirius Black."
Then came Sirius. He took the quill from Remus, and wrote his name larger than any other signature that was already placed on it. He smiled as Frank stared at him in awe.
Seven years of preparation for this one moment. Seventeen years of hate and anger all put into that signature. It is what his life was meant to be.
"Peter Pettigrew."
He handed the quill off to Peter, and sat down. Peter stared at the paper, in horror. All of those names were doomed. All of those names that had signed before him had sold their soul to a useless cause.
And yet, he saw his hand write his name bold on the parchment. Peter Pettigrew.
"Lily Evans," Dumbledore said.
Lily squeezed James's hand, and rose to take the quill from Peter's shaking fingers. She boldly wrote her name next to the other three boys's, and then James stood next to her, taking her hand again.
She handed him the quill, and he stared at it like he had never seen one like it before. The office was silent. Everyone had frozen.
James was petrified. He looked back at the parchment, at the different names that lay before him.
Frederick Snorks.
He had died as a spy, killed by Death Eaters.
Michael June.
His family had been killed. He had been blinded. And then finally they finished him off.
Marlene McKinnon.
Her family was dead.
And towards the bottom Mr. Harold W. Potter.
His father. His daughter was dead. His son was on the blacklist. His entire family was as good as dead.
He felt Lily squeeze his hand, and James jumped. He looked to her for help . . . for strength.
"Go ahead," she said softly.
He loved her.
He loved his mother. He cared for his friends.
And he felt the quill drop from his hand.
"James?" Frank spoke up. James stared at him, determined.
"I can't," he said, shaking his head.
Dumbledore shifted in his seat, and Lily squeezed his hand, "It's all right. Just go ahead."

"No," James broke free from Lily, and then looked to Sirius, "I . . . I can't."
Sirius's eyes darkened.
"James . . ." Dumbledore started.
"No," James said again, and then grabbed his cloak, "I can't."
"Potter, it's what your father would do," Frank said as James turned his back on all of them.
"Exactly," James said darkly, and walked down the staircase.
Away from the Order. Away from Dumbledore. Away from Lily.
Away from it all.
Dumbledore sighed, and rubbed his tired eyes. Then he addressed the remaining four.
"You will be asked to pack up only what you need, and meet a man in a purple hat in the locker room of King's Cross tomorrow at noon," he said, "If anyone follows you, do not lead them to the room. If anyone asks you who you are meeting, tell them Mr. England. Do you understand me?"
They nodded, but all of them were still staring at the door that had just shut behind James. None of them could do this without him. It had gone unsaid. Without Prongs, the rest of the boys wouldn't know what to do.
Lily wished she could erase her name from that parchment. He had tricked her. He had let her believe that he was truly going to join her. And he knew that she had wanted to. He had waited until she had signed. It is what she wanted to do, join the Order. Her eyes grew wide as she realized what he had done. He knew that she wouldn't sign if he didn't.
"What?" Sirius asked.
Lily felt her heart pound in her temples, as she said through her cracked voice, "He really does love me."

The next day was bittersweet. The seventh years were cut off from anyone else in the school. As they walked the long path to arrive at Hogsmeade Station, there was always one of them looking over their shoulders to take one more look at Hogwarts. They were adults now.
They were grown up, and not children anymore.
James did not make the trek with his friends. When he boarded the train, he found his own compartment, and did a locking charm on the door so that it couldn't open. And then he sat next to the window, and watched the trees fly past him.
The lady with the food cart knocked on the door once, but he didn't answer her, and she continued down the hall without another word. He had expected Sirius to come barging down the corridor, pounding his fists on the door and shouting for James to come out and face them.
But Sirius never came.
And James felt even angrier.
They finally reached King's Cross, and James quickly walked past his friends' compartment. None of them said a word to him. Not even Lily.
He picked up his trunk from the storage car, and scanned the crowd for his family. Or what was left with it.
They weren't there.
His anger was boiling now. Fine. They wanted to play their game, and pretend to forget to pick him up, fine. He could play that game, too.

Each year, Earl Katzenbaum drove the large shiny red steam engine in and out of Platform 9 ¾. Each year, he saw the random students in their Muggle clothing exit through the magical barricade and clamber off of the cars with excitement. Each year their hopeful parents picked them up, waving and smiling and giving them kisses and saying embarrassing things like "We have your bedroom all tidied up for you, Jason! It's a new shade of robin's egg blue."
Each year, Katzenbaum saw the same scene with changing faces. He saw the first years grow to seventh years, and their brothers and sisters succeed them. So the hot June day of 1978 shouldn't have been any different.
But it was. For the world was changing. And with it, people changed with it as well. This was the last ride that he had taken on the steam engine. He would never put on his conductor's cap again, and blow the whistle. He was retiring. His arthritis made it very difficult to work the gears and keep the train under control.
Just as he was in thought, he saw a familiar face dwindle out of the crowd. He had seen one very much like it seven years ago. Except now the face was fuller, more alive, and confident.
And the boy wasn't alone. No, he had his friends behind him.
It was the monster. The thing that he had feared so many years ago. Now the monster had grown into a man, and he stood and faced the world with a new sort of determination and courage.
If only Earl had that sort of spirit.
And for a moment, the old engineer smiled at the creature. No one knew why. He didn't even know why. But there was something about that sight of a soul so powerful that he would not give up fighting until all of his fears and nightmares were dead . . . until every single scream in the night had been muffled and turned into laughter . . . something about that sight struck him as admirable.
Earl Katzenbaum had been wrong about his little werewolf.