Five for Fighting

Part One

Moony

The taunts chased after him from the first day at Hogwarts, and would until the last, whether or not James and Sirius noticed. There were always a few.

His friends tried to protect him from them, but he was a recluse fellow, and that was bound to draw attention. And they rarely noticed when he took walks at night. James had, once in a while, and had offered him the Cloak. No. Of course he hadn't accepted it. He liked doing things on his own. If he accepted help, then he owed them a favor. He owed them too much already.

He was glad to be the one to do the kitchen runs at night, to go and steal some food and bring it back to them. They never noticed that he took longer than when James did it, but probably attributed it to the fact he had to sneak more, without the Cloak.

He was a quiet boy.

He wasn't a fighter.

Not until they took his friends away.

The Shadow

She was a copy, taking a little bit from each of her brothers. Fred and George had lent her their ruthlessness, Ron had given her the protectiveness and bravery, Percy the intensity, Bill the charisma, Charlie the gentleness and honesty and pride.

She had very little of her own.

You've got your grandmother's eyes, dear - your father's nose - your aunt's smile - your cousin's chin - your mother's fire - you've got your brothers' skill, Weasley, you'll be a good Seeker -

All she wanted was to take something for her own.

But everything had been someone else's first. The only thing she had was that she was a girl, and so she could have dolls and teasets and her mother would have to get them just for her. No sharing.

But she hated those things, hated them with a passion. And so she would set them down in the attic and have haunted parties with them. And when the ghoul wouldn't stop banging and making mischeif, she would yell at him and start throwing the dolls, and their little china heads would break against the walls.

Ginny Weasley took something of her own.

She became the first to fight.

The Theif

He had always been a scoundrel. He was No Good.

This was what they said, what they muttered. But it Wasn't True. He was drunk most of the time. That was true. And he stole things, and tried to get good deals. But that wasn't meanness, or sliminess. That was revenge...

Sirius had always taken him in when he needed it, and Sirius could use his help. He liked being useful, even if the others didn't understand. Even if Sirius was the only one would could use his connections as an advantage.

Dung knew the tunnels, the secret ways, knew who had done what dirty crime and who was suspected to be in with You-Know-Who.

He knew all of these things that no one else knew, and he hoarded them, precious secrets, things he alone had. Secrets were power. But he shared them with Sirius, because Sirius needed to know.

Sometimes his scoundrel's ways got the best of him - his mask of stupidity that he let everyone believe got the better of him, or he got carried away in his acting.

It wasn't until they killed his protector that he ever really cared much about activity.

When they killed Sirius, Dung had nowhere left to turn. And Dung had never told him everything, never told him some of the secrets that could have saved him.

For his memory, Dung was willing to go out in a blaze of glory.

He swore away drinking and petty crimes.

He would go down fighting.

The Stargazer

He had never been very strong. Fast - wise - perhaps these things were attributes he had. But strength and magic were not his fortes.

He was smaller, paler, and had been born a runt. They had said he would die. He hadn't.

Not that he hadn't come close. But Hagrid had always helped with that. Hagrid had always been there on time. Even when the half-human had been a boy, and had wandered into the Forest, the Stargazer had helped him, teaching him secret ways through, and telling where the safe places were, and where certain creatures lay.

He was surprised when Hagrid began to tame the forest. When the boy who grew and became a friend calmed the thestrals that Firenze could not quite see, and brought in an acromantula that he held in his arms and spoke to. He and the half-man half-friend made an agreement to help one another.

Firenze knew the secret ways, but if he stumbled across the Aragog monster, he would not be able to fight back...and so Hagrid introduced him to his semi- tame creatures, with orders not to harm him.

He kept up his half of the pact, even when his own kind tried to kill him. He kept his word, and came to the school to teach.

Even when Hagrid came on the verge of destroying the peace of the forest that he had helped to make, Firenze tried to help him. It didn't work.

But after Firenze failed Hagrid, he made another pact, this time with himself. He would give up the ways of peace, of noninterference. These ways were what had caused him to fail the only friend who had stayed with him.

He was going to fight, if that was what it took to avenge Hagrid's death.

And that would be what it would take.

The Fearful

He had never imagined anything like this. Never.

When the Dark Lord had vanished, he had secretly rejoiced, and had renounced his Lord. He never imagined that that wasn't the end - that he would have to flee again.

He had made himself a good place in the world, teaching students the things they would need to know to survive in the world. He had kept the traditions going, despite the knowledge that he was probably only brewing more like the master he had forsaken.

But during the Tournament, the Mark began to burn again. And Igor Karkaroff knew that there was nowhere he could go where the Lord could not follow, and find him.

There was another way, a way that was offered to him by a girl he met in Egypt, after two years of running.

Just fight him, she had said. Fight him with us, and maybe we can win.

He hadn't been sure whether to believe or not. But Merlin damn him, he wanted to.

And so he became the fifth, and sealed his fate, for better or worse.

He would fight.

...so came their destinies...