Chapter 8: Life Goes On.

On January 3, the first day back at school, Harry called a D.A. meeting.

"All right," he said once everyone had filed in. "You guys have been doing pretty well with most of the hexes and countercurses we've been teaching you. So, today, we're going to move onto something new, something you should find pretty fun . . . Patronuses."

Excited whispering broke out. "Can you do one?" someone asked excitedly.

"I wouldn't be teaching it if I couldn't." Harry looked at the three friends standing beside him and whispered, "All of us." He turned back to the class, and all four of them raised their wands. "Expecto Patronum!" four voices shouted.

The class ooh'ed and aah'ed appropriately at Ron's cat, Hermione's hawk (interesting change there), Ginny's wolf, and Harry's phoenix.

Wait . . . Harry's phoenix? He gaped at it disbelievingly. Wasn't his Patronus— but then, Ron's and Hermione's had changed too—

"Amazing!" shouted the eager kid, and various other similar exhortations followed. Harry shook his head and got back to the lesson. When did that little change happen?

"That's called a corporeal Patronus—when it has a clearly defined form. Those can actually chase down dementors, and take a lot of practice. Until then, you get a sort of mist that will just keep dementors from getting closer."

Hermione took up the thread of explanation, leaving Harry to his thoughts. Why is my Patronus a phoenix now? he wondered. Not that I don't like it—it seems fitting, in a way. It's just that it's no longer a stag . . .

Remus's words from sixth year Christmas floated into his mind. "Sometimes, a great change . . . an emotional upheaval . . ."

When did I last cast a Patronus, anyway?

Harry thought for a bit, and the answer he came up with surprised him. My Defense O.W.L., he realized. Before I saw James's prattitude for myself. Before I was charged to find the Horcruxes.

Before Dumbledore died, a smaller voice said in his mind.

A hazy memory came unbidden to the surface of Harry's mind. In his fourth year, after Crouch Senior had broken the Imperius and been killed by his son on Hogwarts grounds, Dumbledore had sent off a message by way of what Harry now recognized as a Patronus. The image flitted behind his eyes . . . it was a phoenix.

I'll definitely have to mention this to him.

Hermione had finished her lengthy explanation about the incantation and happy memories, and Peter was now posing a question. "What determines the form?"

Harry took it. "No one really knows," he explained. "I don't think it has anything to do with the memory you use, at least. It's more of—the image of someone you see as a protector, I guess, probably their Animagus form. And it can change, especially during adolescence. All four of ours have in the past two years.

"When I learned this spell, my Patronus was a stag, for a very good reason, but one which I will not disclose." Harry shot a signifcant glance at James. "It stayed that way through around my sixteenth birthday, but I haven't cast it since then. In all honesty, I don't know why or when the phoenix showed up.

"Maybe your Patronus will be the form of a loved one. In fact, if two people have each other's forms, I bet that says a lot." Ron and Hermione blushed. "Maybe it'll be your own form, maybe it'll be a parent's or a friend's. Maybe, like me, you'll have no explanation at all. Really, though, it doesn't matter. Even, oh, a Golden Snidget Patronus could drive away dementors." A few laughs broke the tension.

"All right, everyone, get to it!"

The room was soon filled with shouts of "Expecto Patronum!" Harry and his friends stepped off the raised platform from which they taught and went from student to student, correcting a grip here, an incantation there, offering some advice on what constituted a 'happy memory'. Finally, Harry reached the Marauders, who were practicing as a group with Lily, Danger, Rachel, and Aletha.

"All right, I know some of you are going to get this today." Harry smiled benignly. "Now which of you have managed it, and which of you haven't tried yet?" Eight sheepish grins resulted from that second question. "I knew it. Come on, Remus, Danger, let's see."

The two Harry named closed their eyes. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Remus asked mentally.

If you're thinking of a dream, a wedding, and a controlled transformation . . . then yes, I am.

How did you ever guess?

"Expecto Patronum!" shouted two voices in unison. A huge, silvery predator emerged fully-formed from the tips of each of their wands: a wolf from Remus's, a lion from Danger's.

Harry grinned at them. "Congratulations. Now we all get to tease you for eternity, as it's more than clear that you two are destined to be together. Now . . . anyone else?"

Lily managed her tiger Patronus a few minutes later, followed by Rachel's rodent and Peter's almost-corporeal something that looked vaguely like an owl. Both of them blushed as they realized what that meant. "I— er—"

Rachel managed a smile. "Love is nothing to be ashamed about, Peter," she said calmly.

"You're right . . . as always . . ."

Another few minutes passed, with Harry making another round of the groups, and James and Sirius still hadn't gotten anything corporeal. "I can get some mist," James said exasperatedly, "but beyond that—"

Harry frowned. "What memory were you using?"

"First time I played Quidditch," he responded instantly, beaming.

"Not good enough." Harry chuckled a bit. "You're suffering from the same problem I did. Look for something with joy moreso than happiness. This spell is really powered by love. Maybe something your parents or friends have said or done?"

James's eyes lit up at that; he closed them for a moment in concentration before incanting, "Expecto Patronum!" The silvery stag that bounded out was testament to the strength of the memory.

"Nice one!" Sirius exclaimed. "What'd you use, Prongs?"

"Something my dad said on my birthday," he muttered. "Can't talk about it here. Den on Wednesday." James turned to face Harry. "And my form reminded me of something. What did you mean when you said your Patronus used to be a stag?"

"Exactly what I said, Prongs," said Harry, stressing the last word.

James gaped at him before settling for a resigned expression. "You have a lot to tell us on Wednesday, you know. My family tapestry said something quite interesting."

Sighing, Harry responded. "Should've known," he muttered. "Fine, you'll get your explanation. Keep up the work, guys, Sirius and Aletha especially." He paused, seeming to consider something. "Peter, I need to talk to you for a minute."

"Er, okay." The unlikely pair walked over to an unused corner of the room; Harry cast a Privacy Spell. "What is it?"

Harry sighed. "Simple question for which I need an honest answer. Can I trust Rachel?"

"Absolutely." Peter's response was vehement. "Her own dad was killed by V– Vol– You-Know-Who, you know. She may not be outspoken about it, but she hates Him with a passion for it. Why do you ask?"

"I'm considering inviting her to join our little group," Harry responded. "And with what you said, I think I will. As for why—she seems a good enough sort, motivated, and she's your girlfriend; plus a prophecy I heard that mentions me plus eleven. Since I only knew ten, I figured I was missing someone . . ."

Peter smiled. "I know for a fact she's interested. Thanks for giving her the chance. How do you get into the Den from Ravenclaw, anyway?"

Even though they were inside a Privacy Spell, force of habit caused Harry to whisper. "Say, 'Thank you, Rowena' by the fireplace in the Ravenclaw common room. If there's people around who would see you go into a hole in the wall, preface it with 'stealth mode'. Saying the password again closes the passageway." His voice rose back to normal. "Oh, and remind me to add her to the access list."

"Remember to add Rachel to the access list!" Peter chirped.

"Oh, very funny." Harry cancelled the Privacy Spell and walked back over to the group. "Thanks, Peter. Sirius, Aletha, any luck?"

They were both frowning. "Nothing more than some mist," Aletha said. "I think I might be doing the spell wrong . . ."

"I told you, you're doing it perfectly fine!" Sirius said heatedly. "You just need a better memory!"

"And what would you know about that, Sirius Black?"

"Guys!" Harry yelled. "I swear, you're like Ron and Hermione before they got together," he mumbled.

It wasn't so incomprehensible as not to be heard, though. Sirius and Aletha both blushed (a rare sight); Harry and the other Marauders just laughed. "Back to work, all of you!"

"Be welcome, all, to this den-night," Harry intoned. His voice changed back to normal as he surveyed the ten Gryffindors and one Ravenclaw sitting on the couches. "Hi, Rachel. Wondering what we get up to down here?"

"I'm definitely curious, yeah. Advanced duelling tactics? Plans for defeating Voldemort?" There was a lilt to her voice that made it clear she was only teasing.

"Oh, nothing of the sort," Harry laughed. "Mostly, we have fun, together, in a secure environment free from prying anythings. This place is officially the Heart of Hogwarts, or so one of the house-elves said, but we just call it the Den. It has eight entrances, two per House, one in each common room and one in some other spot. Kitchens to kitchens, library to hospital wing, Quidditch pitch to a rock out on the grounds, and bathroom we haven't been able to figure out." He pointed out each door as it was mentioned. "Let's see. . . anything else?"

Ginny spoke up. "There are a lot of things we talk about in here that absolutely must stay secret, though. Den-secrets, I guess you could call them. Not to be talked about even when you think nobody is watching—invisibility cloaks, Disillusionment Charms, Silencing Charms, all exist. Because we really do talk about plans for defeating Voldemort, sometimes."

"Which brings us to the promised explanations," Harry finished. "James, what do you know already?"

"Not much," the Gryffindor admitted. "Dad was showing me the family tapestry—you know, it only updates when someone is looking at it—and a line starts getting stitched out from my name . . ."

Ron guffawed. "What, did he think you'd shagged someone and wound up with a kid?"

James grimaced in memory of his dad's reaction. "Actually, that was almost exactly it. He was just about ready to start yelling until he saw the birth date. 'Harry, 1980 to present'. Now, that one threw me for a loop." He laughed slightly.

"And who was the mum?" Peter asked innocently.

Remus was grinning; he seemed to already know. "Let me guess—"

"Yeah, yeah, no need to say it," James said, exasperated. "Just one question. Harry, are you my kid from the future?"

The now slightly older boy grinned back. "Knew you'd figure it out eventually." His expression turned somber. "Now, what do you want to know?"

James was a bit taken aback by Harry's expression, but he couldn't mask his excitement. "How was I, raising you? What are we doing twenty years from now? Do you have any siblings? How was your time at Hogwarts? Why are you so important to Dumbledore? Who else knows?"

Harry held up a hand, unsmiling. "Hold it. Are you sure you really want to know all that? It's not pleasant."

"Yeah, of course I want to know." James was undeterred.

"I'll answer your second question first." Harry turned to face each of them in turn. "Remus Lupin, my third-year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Spy among the werewolves for the Order of the Phoenix."

"Gertrude Granger. Hermione's sister, not magical. I don't know what you're doing, but you're alive. In my reality, your parents didn't die."

"Sirius Black. Died June 21, 1996, fighting Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries. Wrongfully imprisoned in Azkaban for twelve years. Escaped as Padfoot, on the run for a year, then Dumbledore protected you once he found out about your innocence. So far as I know, your name hadn't been cleared when I left." Harry tried hard to keep his voice impartial, but despite his efforts it cracked a few times.

"Aletha Freeman. Alive, so far as I know. In all honesty, I never met you in my time."

"James and Lily Potter." Harry had to stop, take a couple deep breaths. "Died— October 31, 1981, protecting me from Voldemort." Tears in his eyes, he took a minute to regain his composure.

"Rachel Trent. Alive, so far as I know. I've never met you either."

Here Harry paused, not wanting to talk about the Wormtail he had known. James seized the silence to ask a question. "Why did Sirius get thrown in Azkaban?"

Harry didn't answer. I don't want to answer that, James, don't make me . . . it would only upset you . . .

James was undeterred, though, and plowed on. "Why don't you want to talk about Peter? He did something bad in your reality, didn't he?"

"You could say that." Harry turned and fixed the rat Animagus with a piercing stare. "Remember, Peter, that it is our choices, not our abilities, that decide our fate. My presence here has changed things, for the better I hope. You are not going to turn into the person you might have—as long as you remember that you have a choice. Do you understand?"

Peter nodded, a confused frown in place.

"And the rest of you, you won't blame him for what he might have done?"

Ten more nods. Rachel was the only one who didn't look worried.

Harry finished his narration. "Peter Pettigrew. Alive, I think. Death Eater, my parents' Secret-Keeper, betrayed their whereabouts to Voldemort and framed Sirius for it and the deaths of you and twelve Muggles, lived as Ron's rat for a while, escaped and brought Voldemort back to life in June 1995." He sighed. "God, it sounds awful condensed like that."

Peter was very pale, shaking a bit, by the time Harry finished his description. "It– it was awful, Harry. I can't believe I'd ever do anything like that. Merlin . . ."

Rachel was on him in a second, hugging him, trying to get him to calm down. "Remember what Harry said, Peter? You've changed. He KNEW all this about your once future self, and he still saw the differences. Remember what I said when I spoke to you before the first D.A. meeting this year?"

"Guess so," Peter mumbled. Rachel let him go, but still sat right next to him on the sofa.

"Listen, Peter," Harry continued. "I don't blame you for what you haven't done. Just understand if I have a bit of an aversion to the name 'Wormtail'—it's what Voldemort always called you, too."

Peter, still not really trusting himself to speak, just nodded.

Remus, Sirius, and James contributed their own reassurances. James's was most interesting. "Listen, Peter, you really are a lot better than before," he said sincerely. "I'm sorry for what I said four months ago about that—it was shortsighted and mean."

Wonder what's up with that . . .

Peter smiled, finally. "Thanks for understanding, guys."

"What I want to know," Lily said, "is what caused the change? What's different between Harry's reality and ours?"

Peter shrugged. "How would I know?"

Lily looked at Harry expectantly. "Any ideas?"

"You'd be looking for something that happened after August 11," Harry said. "Even if it seems completely unconnected."

Peter thought for a minute. "Wait— my dad, who turned out to be a Death Eater, was killed on the eighteenth. It made me reconsider a lot. Are you saying that didn't happen in your timeline?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "To the best of my knowledge, no. And if your dad was a Death Eater, he might've forced you into it . . . That seems to explain it."

Danger spoke up in a very small voice. "And my parents?" Her face was slightly red.

Merlin, what do I say to her? "Danger, I—" He broke off, uncertain.

Thankfully, Hermione was better at this sort of thing than he was. "Listen, Danger, I know how you feel. It was a shock to me too. But really, you can't blame Harry for this. There's nothing he could've done; it is Not His Fault." Her voice was comforting yet vehement. "Muggles study something called chaos theory; a really small initial change can cause huge "ripples", like this. I think it's called the butterfly effect, if you want to read something about it."

"Thanks, Hermione. And Harry— I don't blame you; it just was a bit of a surprise, I guess . . ."

"It's fine. Now, I brought my Pensieve because I have a bunch to show you. Remember, all of this stays secret."

And so Harry went on to show what had happened with the Philosopher's Stone, in the Chamber of Secrets, with Sirius and Peter in the Shrieking Shack, in the graveyard with Wormtail and Voldemort, in the Department of Mysteries and afterwards . . .

The prophecy left eight people gaping in shock. "You're the only one who can defeat— him?" Aletha squeaked.

"Yeah, in this time too. Dumbledore interviewed Trelawney over Christmas break, same thing happened." He played the second prophecy for them as well.

"So we're the eleven?" Lily asked after Trelawney receded back into her bowl of mists.

"Seems like it," Harry said, smiling.

"This is a little much to take in at once, guys," Aletha said. "I can tell you have more, Harry, but could you let it wait until next den-night?"

Harry nodded. "Sure thing. Now, let's see . . . Peter, care to teach Rachel a certain skill you possess?" Sirius laughed and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "No, not that skill, Padfoot, you dolt!" Harry clarified, a bit red-faced. "I meant Animagus!"

Peter blushed. "Rachel, would you like to learn?"

"I'd love to."

He nodded and began to explain. "Well, first, you get a mirror and cast the scrying spell, it's Revelaro Animalis . . ."

Sunday a week and a half later, the eleven Gryffindor friends could be found doing what some of them hated the most.

Homework.

"I swear, N.E.W.T.s are worse than the O.W.L.s were," Ron grumbled as he rolled up an essay for Potions. "I've still got Transfiguration and Defense left; that Johnson bloke's a horrible teacher, but I'll grant he knows how to assign stuff."

Aletha gulped melodramatically. "There's a year worse than this one? I'm suddenly not quite so excited about getting all those N.E.W.T.s for my Healer training . . ."

Danger smacked her lightly on the shoulder. "Don't mind Aletha," she said lightly. "She finds any academic endeavor to be trying."

"There's some of those in every group." Hermione rolled her eyes and allowed them to rest on Ron.

Ron noticed. "Hey! I'm working!"

"Yeah, because you've got three essays due tomorrow—"

"At least I'm getting them done!"

Harry leaned over and stage-whispered to Remus. "Remind you of anyone?"

He gave an odd cough remniscent of "SiriandLetha!" and returned to staring at the fireplace in silent enjoyment of just being with his friends.

James and Sirius were sitting in two of the best chairs by the fire, poring over something the latter boy had written. "What's this for, Padfoot?" James asked.

"Oh, just a Transfiguration paper, Prongs."

"You mean the one we got assigned the other day, where we get to choose the topic ourselves? I think I'm going to do mine on human-to-animal Transfiguration, with an emphasis on flying mammals; it might be nice to get someone to take the hint and just turn Snape into a bat . . . That's not due for weeks, though. Why're you working on it now?"

Sirius, who had chuckled at the bat comment, shrugged. "Felt inspired, I guess, Prongs."

"Why do you keep— oh. Don't get too obvious, though, Padfoot."

"Are you kidding me? This is our perfect opportunity to impress McGonagall for once! She'll never see it coming from me. Here, want to see what I've written so far?"

James took the paper with a nod. His eyes flicked from left to right as he skimmed what Sirius had written. "Nice description of the process, how to write your incantation, things that can go wrong—Merlin, you just had to put that in there, didn't you?"

"Oh, do tell," teased Lily, who was sitting nearby.

James sighed and blushed slightly, but didn't try to evade the question. "'There are many ways in which the Animagus transformation can go awry,'" he read. "Didn't even know you knew that word, Padfoot. 'Most of the individual body part transformation spells will simply fail to work if mispronounced or miscast, but the final incantation must be cast perfectly; because of its complexity in tying together so many disparate parts, it can fail in strange and often entertaining ways. In addition to the well-known danger of becoming stuck in animal form (permanent unless someone is nearby to reverse it), this writer knows of at least one stag Animagus who mispronounced a word in the middle of his incantation and wound up with antlers above his ears and a fur coat from chest to knees . . .'"

Everyone who was listening laughed uproariously. "Oh, stop it," James said, red-faced. "It was an honest mistake, okay?"

Lily managed to stop laughing for a moment. "Mark of a gentleman," she said primly. "Able to laugh at his own embarrassment." She broke out in peals of laughter again, and this time, James joined in.

A couple of hours later, the common room was much more empty, and even the Marauders had finished their work for tomorrow. Hermione, Danger, and Lily all had their noses in a book, and most of the others were just sitting in silence. At one of the oak tables, a few nameless students scratched out the last of their work.

Remus, for his part, stared at the roaring Gryffindor fireplace, thinking about the wonderful events of the past few months. I am so, so lucky, he realized. Eleven people who care about me, who trust me . . . who would die for me. And I would do the same for them.

That level of devotion was almost frightening for someone who had been a lone wolf for sixteen and a half years of his life.

Altogether, though, I'm happier than I've ever been. A wolf needs his pack.

A very well-known voice sounded in Remus's mind. Actually, I rather like that name.

Remus almost fell out of his chair in surprise. What? Huh?

You were thinking too loudly, love, Danger said with a mental snicker.

Guess so. What did you mean, though?

That name. Us. The Pack. Twelve people, bound by friendship and love . . . it seems fitting.

Fit it does. We can bring it up next den-night. In the meantime, I'm a bit worried. Everything seems so peaceful lately—the war's going on, sure, and we hear about it, but for us, life is good. I can't help but notice the unusual lack of danger in my life . . .

Danger laughed out loud. Oh, I'm sure that can be rectified, she teased.

You knew what I meant.

Of course I did. But with an opening like that, I'm not supposed to take advantage?

Oh, you— Remus, staring at the fire, blinked. It had just jumped up for a second, and seemed to be continuing to do so, in some sort of pattern. Notice anything about the fire?

Danger looked, and noticed it too. It almost looks like Morse code, but that's—

Morse code? What's that? Remus was treated to a series of mental images relating to the dots-and-dashes code developed by Samuel Morse for communication, connected with the fact that Danger had learned it a year or so ago 'for fun' . . .

Danger mentally gasped. It is Morse code. And it's saying something.

What, then?

"I am bored."

How in Merlin's name—

Danger cut him off. Remember the Hogwarts Founders? Godric's heirs could wandlessly control fire.

Well, that's certainly interesting. Remus looked around the room surreptitiously. Someone in this room was the Heir of Gryffindor. Over seventeen, probably just over, experimenting, and as the message said, bored . . .

James Potter was smiling and tapping his foot in time with the message.

"Prongs?"

James turned around and the fire settled back down. "What is it, Moony?"

"Where did you learn Morse code?"

"Dad taught me one summer when I had nothing to do, a couple of years ago. Why?" James said easily, but he flashed a series of Marauder signs as he did so: act normal, talk later, and one that could be politely translated as, Oh, bollocks.

"Oh, no reason." Remus blinked twice, hard, and glanced up the boys' staircase. "Just curious."

James yawned theatrically. "I think I'm going to head to bed. Night, everyone."

"Me too," Remus said. "Early classes tomorrow, you know. Good night."

As he walked up to the sixth-years' dormitory, he could have sworn he heard Hermione shrill, "Look at the time! I'd better be off too. Good night."

She'll never change, that one.

Oh, Danger? Do you remember that prophecy you said about the entrance to the Den?

Danger thought for a moment. I don't remember saying it, but Harry told me I did. "Remember, by the place of your father's servant, to thank the one from whom your gift descends."

'Thank you, Godric,' indeed. Thus confirming my suspicions.

They stepped inside the dormitory; Remus closed the door and sent a series of sealing spells at it. "All right, James, I think I've figured it out. You're Gryffindor's Heir, aren't you?"

In response, James held out his hand and made a ball of fire appear in it. "Dad told me on my birthday," he explained, fidgeting. "He also said to keep it quiet. I can't believe I was so careless—"

"Relax, Prongs. I won't tell anyone you don't want me to. We all have plenty of secrets."

Danger spoke up. Harry's his son. His powers are bound. Shouldn't James be doing something about that?

Didn't think of that. Remus looked sharply at James. "Do you remember what your dad did to unlock it?"

"Yeah, he said something about me needing to remember for my kids. But why would I— oh."

"Yes, I think Harry would appreciate that quite a lot. Now, if you want everyone to know, you can do it next den-night. If not, just find Harry and a classroom somewhere. The Map could probably help with that."

James nodded slowly. "I'm just rather reluctant to tell anyone; I believe the way my dad put it was, 'If you trust them with your life, you can trust them with this.'"

"And do you?" Remus asked quietly, so quietly James wasn't sure he heard.

The messy-haired boy thought for a few minutes. The Marauders, he had trusted fully for years now. Harry— Harry was his son, for Merlin's sake, and Harry's friends had gone through a whole lot more than his own. Danger's bond meant she would know anyway, Rachel was so straightforward he didn't see how he couldn't not trust her, Aletha had proven herself to be stubborn and strong-willed but a true friend nonetheless . . .

And, if James was going to be honest with himself, he was really, truly falling in love with Lily Evans.

"Yes," he said solemnly. "I do. I'll tell everyone."

It's a nice feeling, isn't it?

The next morning at breakfast, a flash of flame heralded a handwritten note next to Harry's plate. He picked it up and read it quickly. "James?" he asked. "Are you free tonight?"

"Sure, why?"

"Note from Dumbledore. He wants you to come to his office at seven o'clock tonight with me." Harry didn't mention the Occlumency lesson that would normally be occurring around that time; he didn't want to confuse James any more than necessary.

Ron, it appeared, had no such qualms. "What about your lesson, Harry?"

"What lesson?" James asked, curious.

"Occlumency," Harry said. "Art of defending the mind from external penetration. Dumbledore thinks it'll help with this." He pointed to his scar.

"Hey, at least the person teaching you is free of any greasy hair."

Harry laughed at this oblique way of putting it. "Yeah. I've already had one lesson. Professor Greasy had been teaching it completely wrong, apparently—no surprises there." The past Monday, Dumbledore had done nothing more than help Harry learn how to organize his mind for over an hour. One's mental 'walls' were naturally quite flimsy, but there was a set of exercises one could do to strengthen them to at least notice an attack, and ways to further protect important memories beyond that . . . It was mostly a matter of concentration and discipline—the exercises had to be done each night before going to bed—and, if taught competently, was not particularly challenging to the movitvated student. And there's hardly a motivation better than keeping the worst Dark Lord in recent memory out of your head. Even with only a week's experience, Harry was feeling much more comfortable about controlling his connection to Voldemort.

That night, father and son walked to the gargoyle in silence.

"Cockroach Cluster!" Harry called.

The gargoyle stepped aside, revealing the moving stone staircase behind. "After you," James said, a tad nervously.

"Oh, don't be so nervous. Dumbledore actually likes pranks sometimes, you know." James looked ecstatic and shocked at the very thought. They ascended the staircase, and Harry rapped on the door to Dumbledore's office.

"Come in, Messrs. Potter."

They did so.

"Ah, hello. Harry, we will get to your lesson in just a few minutes, but I thought you should be here for this."

Harry nodded in silence. He had a strong suspicion of what was about to happen, but with Dumbledore, anything was possible.

"As for why I have called you here, James, I felt the castle's magic being tapped last night—something that could only have been done by a blood Heir of one of the Founders. I was at first confused, as to the best of my knowledge none currently attend Hogwarts . . . until I remembered a peculiar spell your father had asked me for help with when you were born. Are my suspicions correct?"

Looking slightly stricken, James nodded. "Yes, sir. Dad told me on my birthday over Christmas holidays." He held out his hand, creating a ball of flame in it; apparently, this was quickly becoming the de facto wordless Heirship explanation.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled brightly. "May the gift serve you well all your life." He cleared his throat. "Incidentally, it gives you a special connection to the magic of the castle—which is no pittance—but the connection works best when you're in Hogsmeade or closer. Without it, using your power on a large scale will probably tire you greatly. And, as you already know, I can tell when the castle's magic is tapped." Dumbledore held out his hand, and James shook it, still a bit dazed. "Welcome home, James Potter, lion's son."

James smiled. "Thank you, Professor." Dumbledore nodded in a clear dismissal, and James left the room.

Harry, who had been gaping at the two as they spoke, blinked a few times and cleared his throat. "Professor, does that mean I'm—"

"Indeed it does," Dumbledore responded calmly. "With all your blood relatives dead on your father's side of the family, no one existed in your old timeline to unlock your power. Now that you are here, though, I believe James will be able to help you . . ."

Harry grinned. "Thanks, Professor. I'll be sure to ask him."

"Please do." He extended his hand. "Welcome home, Harry Potter, lion's son."

Harry shook it, smiling a bit bemusedly. "Tradition?"

"Indeed. For, for any Heir, this castle really is home . . . I digress. Have you been performing your Occlumency exercises over the past week?"

"I have, sir." Without Snape breathing down my neck, it's not nearly as hard.

"Do you feel prepared to attempt to resist a mental intrusion? I shall not press with all my mental might, merely prod your shields a bit."

Harry closed his eyes and mentally filed through his recent memories, placing them behind a wall of flame. Seems fitting, now that I know. He reopened his eyes and met the Headmaster's firmly. "I'm ready."

"Thank you, Harry. Three . . . two . . . one . . ."

I'm actually happy here. If he does get past my shields—which he probably will—he's only going to find good things.

That thought inspired a bit of fervor for Harry. To put it bluntly, he had a lot to live for, and he fully intended to keep it that way.

Harry's mental shields stengthened slightly, almost unconsciously. Watch out, world. Here I come.

James leaned back lazily on a replica Gryffindor couch. "Attention, Pack!" he said in a good imitation of a silly announcer voice. "The Marauders have an announcement to make!" (Danger's appellation had stuck; it fit with the sense of kinship they shared, and the fact that fully a third of the twelve were Animagi that would live in packs didn't hurt.)

James, Sirius, and Peter immediately stood at attention, marched exaggeratedly to the table in the middle of the room, and stood on top of it. Moony followed, doing quite a skilled hind-leg walk. He dropped back to all fours in front of the three human Marauders and let out three sharp barks.

To everyone else, this spectacle was new and completely unexpected. Eight people tried desperately to hold in their laughter, but facial expressions gave it away. Lily managed to keep a straight face as she asked, "Do you guys actually do this stuff?"

James took the question gallantly. "Only all the time, my dear lady. Now! We the Marauders of Hogwarts wish to present our latest creation. Countless hours of tireless Charms work have led us to an artifact that we hope to survive generations to come!"

"You're actually capable of 'countless hours of tireless Charms work'?" Aletha asked with a grin.

"Of course, my dear lady," Sirius said. "Even pranksters such as us are capable of serious work."

"Moony did it all, he's trying to say," Peter added in a stage whisper.

Sirius acted as if he hadn't heard. "Without further ado," he proclaimed, whipping a new piece of parchment out of his pocket, "The Marauder's Map!" He held it up for everyone to see.

It was blank.

"Um . . . other side, please?" Lily suggested.

Sirius turned it over. Still blank.

"Er— is this all a big joke or something?"

Harry and his three time-traveling friends had already caught on, of course, and he was also holding up a piece of parchment, though one that looked about twenty years older. All four of them were snickering by now.

Sirius's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Oh, my! I must have forgotten to activate it!" He rapped the parchment with his wand. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

Harry did the same thing, at the same time, to his own parchment, but the eyes of the four girls of this time period were all on the one held by the Marauders. Spiky black lines emitted from the point of Sirius's wand tap, and even from a few feet away the result was clearly visible as a map of Hogwarts. The Marauders bowed as one, jumped off the table, and immediately shed their ridiculous-looking expressions. "You like?" James asked, as Sirius handed the map to Aletha. She nodded appreciatively before handing it on to Lily.

"Wow," the redhead breathed. "This is amazing. The charms this sort of thing would require . . . I'm impressed."

"When we have a reason to exert ourselves, we are, in fact, able to do so," James explained, smiling. "So, Harry, you have the Map from the future?"

"Yep. In my timeline, you lost it to Filch in your seventh year—do be careful about that, guys—and it stayed there until Fred and George Weasley stole it back in 1990. They gave it to me in my third year."

"So we have two Maps. Neat. Is yours the same as ours?"

"I think so, but check it yourself."

James took the map from Harry and held the two side-by-side. "Handwriting's a tad different, but other than that, no changes. Now, want to see what else this thing can do? Mischief managed," he said with a wand tap, and the map cleared itself.

Harry broke into James's train of thought. "Allow me." He took on a faux cold voice with an almost audible sneer and tapped the new Map with his wand. "I, Professor Severus Snape, demand that you reveal your secrets!"

Danger read the map and snorted. "You guys really do know your stuff, I'll grant you that. Of course, I already knew that."

Lily cocked an eyebrow. "And, Harry, how exactly would you know how the map responds to Snape?"

"He caught me with it," Harry said with a sheepish grin. "Coming back from Hogsmeade—he found it in my pocket, and Professor Lupin managed to convince him that it was just a piece of insult-spewing parchment. Then he told me he'd have to keep the map, as he 'knew the manufacturers' and they would want to lure me out of the castle . . ."

Sirius guffawed. "Oh, good one, Moony!"

Hey, I'm sure I was looking out for his safety! Remus complained mentally.

Oh, we're having too much fun to worry about the truth right now. That performance was really spot-on, you know.

And completely unrehearsed. We just know each other very well.

That comment, Danger repeated.

A few minutes of more uncontrolled laughter later, James cleared his throat. "Anyway, I also have a very serious—don't you dare, Padfoot—" he added as Sirius opened his mouth— "matter to address. Harry, come here."

Harry did so, sitting in the chair James indicated. He would have loved to ask what was going on, but with James Potter, such a question would probably be futile.

"All right, Harry . . . tradition demands I say something here, so here goes. You're amazing, Harry."

Harry blinked and frowned slightly. "Not really," he said softly. "I just did what needed to be done."

"Oh, shut up and stop being so damn modest," James teased, then regained his serious expression. "You've done a lot of really remarkable things in your life. You've been through so much, and I think it's a small miracle you're still as strong and as good a person as you are. When you intervened between me and Snape on the first day of this year, I acted like a prat. I lashed out at you and tried to prove you were Dark, when any idiot could see the opposite was true.

"I was wrong. I apologize."

This time, Harry wasn't the only one who blinked in surprise. James Potter, apologizing? Sure, he had become more serious since the werewolf incident, but nobody expected anything so drastic as that.

"Listen, Harry," he continued earnestly. "Since then, I've realized a lot. There are things more important than pranks, more important than anything that goes on at this school, and they're coming at us faster than we should have any right to expect. And I want to be one of the people who fights them. Not because I want the fame, not because it's what my family's always done, but because it's the right thing to do. I respect you, Harry, more than you'll ever know. I'm incredibly proud of you. I'm with you."

For some reason Harry would never understand, James's statement was echoed by ten more voices, speaking one after the other. The Pack was seated in a rough circle, Harry on James's right, and each one of them looked at Harry in turn and said solemnly, "I'm with you."

Rachel was the last one to speak. "I'm with you, Harry. We all are. There are twelve strong people in this room ready to fight for their beliefs. No matter what happens, don't lose sight of your friends."

Overcome, Harry could do little more than smile. "Thanks, guys," he said emotionally. "You could never know how much this means to me."

"And now, for something I hope will serve you well." James's voice took on the familiar formal overtones as both he and Harry stood up. Placing his hands on Harry's shoulders, James spoke: "By the power within me and the blood we share, I do hereby release any bindings that may be on the power of the line of Godric Gryffindor within you, Harry James Potter, my blood son. I charge you to use this power always for good, never for evil, and to remember that even the very wise cannot see all ends. Receive that power which is rightfully yours."

Harry's expression was inscrutable, but unquestionably content. As the seconds passed, his resolve seemed to visibly stengthen. Finally, he said, "Thank you, James"; the simple words belied the depth of gratitude that he felt. Turning to the group as a whole, he looked each person in the eye and found no fear, no hesitancy, just resolve and determination. "We are Pack now, Pack together," he said solemnly.

"Pack forever," a chorus of voices answered him.

Maybe it was just his imagination, but Harry was sure something had changed as those words were spoken.

Changed for the better.

Walking from their last class of the day (Transfiguration) to the common room, James and Lily found themselves deserted by the Marauders and Ginny who had been just a minute ago walking alongside them.

Right after Ginny had skillfully maneuvered the conversation to next weekend's Hogsmeade visit.

Completely unbeknownst to Lily, James was having an internal debate at the moment. I want to ask her, but I shouldn't . . . we're great friends now, I don't want to ruin that . . . she's not interested in me that way, she's made herself abundantly clear . . .

Completely unbeknownst to James, Lily was having similar thoughts.

An uncomfortable silence descended. After a minute or so, James broke it. "So, what are you planning on doing in Hogsmeade?" Merlin, that sounds bad even to me.

Lily shrugged. "Oh, nothing much," she said. "I don't have a date, if that's what you're asking."

"No, I didn't mean it that way! I was just . . . yeah."

"Oh." Is that . . . disappointment?

More silence. Only two flights of stairs left. Now or never, James thought, gathering up the vaunted Gryffindor courage that had fled to the South Pole not too long ago. "Er, Lily, do you want to go with me?"

She stopped walking.

James hastened to explain. "Listen, we've gotten to be good friends lately, and I know I promised I wouldn't ask you out so often anymore, but I just wanted to try—if you just want to go as friends that's fine too, I understand—" Lily was saying something, but the sound was getting garbled somewhere between his ears and his brain. "I was just hoping—"

"James," Lily said, almost laughing. "JAMES!"

He snapped out of his rambling. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. James's heart sank when he saw the expression on Lily's face. She's laughing at me, I know it . . . damn it, Prongs, why'd you have to go and mess everything up . . .

"James," Lily repeated. "I. Said. Yes."

"Oh."

Lily wasn't able to hold in her laughter anymore, and James soon followed suit. Merlin, but that was funny. The great James Potter, fumbling over asking a girl for a date.

When they had both calmed down, Lily used exactly those words. "I'd been wondering how long it'd take you to stop dancing around me and finally ask," she said, shaking her head with a smile. "The way you finally did was just priceless."

"Finally?"

"Yes, finally, you prat. I've been waiting, oh, since Christmas break or so. I swear, men never understand the first thing about relationships until they get hit over the head by one."

"I guess." He laughed. "Really, though, I just wanted to avoid ruining our friendship."

Lily smiled brightly. "And that is why I said yes. The old James Potter wouldn't've even had a friendship with me. As for ruining it? Never. You've merely . . . augmented it, shall we say."

Hand in hand, they returned to Gryffindor Tower smiling.

James and Lily's Hogsmeade date went wonderfully. They spent a good deal of their time in the Three Broomsticks with the rest of the Pack, though James gave Lily some time in Gladrag's, and Lily let James run amok in Zonko's.

"Nothing short of a miracle," was Sirius's opinion when he heard.

It wasn't all fun and games, though. As the sky began to darken and students began to head back, James took Lily to the Shrieking Shack. They stared at it in silence for a bit.

"The villagers are wondering why they never hear sound from inside anymore," Lily said idly. "Haven't for four months."

"And you know exactly why." James sighed and gathered his thoughts as both continued to stare at the old, decrepit shack. "Lily . . . listen, I've had a great time today, and it seems like you have too, but I need to know. How do you feel about this?"

"And what 'this' would that be, James Potter?" Even though he couldn't see her face, James was sure he could hear her smile.

He waved his hands aimlessly. "This. Us. Our relationship."

"I think I know what you're getting at." Lily paused. "It's about Harry, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah," James said sheepishly. He knew he should probably say more than that, but he had no clue to express the worry that was going through his mind—that Lily felt obligated to do this because it had worked in some alternate timeline, because they had produced what was by any account a really great kid. And then we died before his second birthday.

Intentionally or not, Harry changed everything.

"Look at me, James." Lily's voice was soft, comforting, but with a hint of firmness to it. James turned his head and did as he was told. Lily stared right back at him, a smile visible in both her mouth and her eyes.

Harry's eyes . . . his mother's eyes . . .

James needn't have worried; Lily understood the situation just fine without him saying anything. "James," she began, "I know Harry's existence complicates things. You're worried I feel forced into this, aren't you?"

Unsure of what to say, the hazel-eyed boy just nodded.

Lily fixed him with, if possible, an even more piercing gaze—and yet a softer one, too. "I don't, James. Harry's presence has only accelerated our relationship."

James finally found his voice. "How d'you figure that one?"

"Because he forced you to stop being a prat, of course." They both laughed.

Laughs dissolved into smiles, and Lily continued. "Seriously, though, James . . . you're a wonderful person in your own right, and that doesn't have anything to do with Harry. If you had managed to lose your prattitude without him, I'm sure we'd still be here." Her voice dropped. "And for the record, I see no reason why at least a few of the things Harry remembers can't still come true."

Is she . . .

"Thanks, Lily," James said sincerely. He smiled, and continued without thinking. "Another one of the reasons I love you so much."

Lily made a small noise in the back of her throat.

Merlin, did I say that out loud? James blushed. "Er, Lily, I—"

She cut him off. "Did you mean what you said?" she asked in a forceful whisper.

James searched her face. There was no hint of anger there, just . . . curiosity—no, something more than that. "Yes, I did."

Lily relaxed and beamed at him. "Merlin. I don't know how many times I've told the girls in my dorm that I'd never say this, but James Potter, I love you too."

"And I never, ever thought I'd hear you say those words."

I've dreamed about this so much, especially since Harry got here, and now—it's actually happening, and it's even better than I thought.

Lily fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Aren't you forgetting something, James?" she asked coyly.

They kissed.

Scratch that. Way better.

As always, Lily Evans read the Daily Prophet over breakfast. Today, though, something was different.

"Oh my God. Have you guys seen this?" she asked, clearly upset, holding out the paper with a shaking hand.

Puzzled, Harry took the proferred paper and read bits of the front-page article aloud. "Death Toll Becomes Known . . . Merlin. 'The Minstry of Magic released the names today showing the sum total of wizards killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to date . . . list numbered over a hundred . . .'" He set the paper down and sighed heavily. "It's bad. Even worse than I remember. But we can't lose hope. We can't." He sounded almost as if he was trying to convince himself.

"What can we do, though?" Lily asked in a very small voice. "Even Dumbledore hasn't been able to kill him . . ."

It was James who answered, vehemently and bracingly. "You know the answer to that question, Lily," he said. "You've heard the prophecy. As for what we do—we stick together." He placed both his hands out on the table, and one by one the members of the Pack grabbed one or the other. "We may not be able to stand alone, but we have something Voldemort will never have. We have each other." He looked around the table at each of them. "Never forget that, Lily. Or any of you. Pack together."

"Pack forever," eleven voices answered him softly.

One day in March, Hermione came barreling into the common room, waving a sheet of crinkly old parchment excitedly and shouting, "I found it! I found it!" Ignoring the various odd looks she was receiving, she ran straight to Ron and Harry and thrust the piece of parchment directly in front of them.

Harry took it and read the ornately scripted text. The potion known as Darkness' Door forms a nearly impenetrable barrier to protect an object. A bright, glowing green in color, its surface may not be broken by any means, magical or physical, save that of the goblet of one attempting to drink it. Such a drinker would fall to dementia, extreme thirst, and ultimately death. Only the person who set the potion may dispel its protections, using the incantation creperum ostium exemo

He looked up at a beaming Hermione. "Hermione, you're brilliant!" he enthused. "Found this in the Restricted Section?"

"Yeah, wedged into Moste Potente Potions. Dumbledore gave me permission."

Harry's voice dropped, and he forced himself to keep in mind his surroundings. "Do you think that was the potion in the cave?" Hermione nodded; Harry continued to speak, softly. "I think that's where Lestrange hid the You-Know-What last time, too—she seems the type to boast to Reggie, and that's probably how he found out—so it should be there again, since Lord Snakey tasked her with hiding it this time too. But then how would we get it? We couldn't exactly get him to cooperate in his own downfall . . ."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "That's why I'm so excited," she said breathlessly. "Remember what the prophecy said? About, er, the mark? I think I've figured something out about it."

"Yeah?" 'And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal.' "I'm not seeing the connection."

"Think about it, Harry. 'An equal' . . . you're not as powerful as him, he sure doesn't think you're an equal—what if it means you appear as one, for spells and such?"

"Blimey, Hermione, you're good," Ron said wondrously. "What do you think, Harry?"

"It's the best idea we've got." Harry frowned. "I can't help but feel like it's too easy, though . . ."

"Too easy?" Ron was incredulous. "Too easy? Merlin, Harry, take what you can get. Didn't Dumbledore say something about you having 'uniquely deadly weapons' or something?"

"I'm impressed, Ron," Hermione said, deadpan. "Exactly what I was going to say." She turned to Harry, and her voice became more sincere. "Ron's right. This only works because of your connection. If you still think it's 'too easy', please remember no one else could do it . . ."

Harry sighed and acquiesced. "All right, it's worth a try, I guess. But let's wait until summer to try and get it out—if we left during Easter break, we'd be noticed."

One found, four to go.

Over Easter break, most people would stay at Hogwarts, studying for the impending exams and completing the requisite mountains of homework assigned over the break. Maybe, if they were lucky, they would have a chance to enjoy themselves.

In this respect, the Pack qualified as 'most people', especially when five of them were preparing for O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Severus Snape, unfortunately for him, was not.

"Good to see you, Severus," his grandfather greeted him stiffly as he walked into the stuffy old manor house. The man's name was Matthias, but nobody other than his own wife (Zenadia, his grandmother—and a meaner old hag I've yet to see) called him that. To Severus, he was always "Grandfather," a stern old man who professed to have his bests interests at heart when nothing of the sort was true.

"You as well, Grandfather." The Princes placed a high value on formal speech.

I can't believe I'm living with them, Snape thought for not the first time. He again mentally went over his reasons for doing so: they're family, they're filthy rich and don't mind caring for me, I don't want to turn my life over to the fools in the Ministry . . .

But, as had been happening lately, each of these reasons was matched by a counterpoint. What does family matter if they hate me? What do riches matter if they use them to indebt me? And might even the Ministry be better than this?

I am seventeen years old. I have been for three months. I should not have to live here.

But I don't have anywhere to go.

Patience, Severus, patience, he reminded himself. In time, you'll get out.

I hope.

Grandmother walked out of the sitting room and shook his hand stiffly, releasing it as soon as possible. "Have you been doing well at school, Severus?"

"Yes, Grandmother." As if she cares. Probably just an excuse to make some bigoted comment.

Snape's hunch was proven correct. "It's a wonder you turned out as well as you did," the old lady muttered, though quite loud enough for Snape to hear. "Between your blood-traitor mother and your lout of a Muggle father, I'd have thought you destined for a paper-pushing job for sure . . . at least those influences are gone now . . ."

Snape pretended to listen, allowing the hag to finish her long-winded rant, saying, "Yes, Grandmother," in all the appropriate places. It stung less if he didn't allow himself to comprehend the words flowing from her gnarled old mouth.

Finally, she finished. ". . . Don't you agree, Severus?"

"Of course, Grandmother." I agree that you're a righteous, bigoted old hag who will never change her ways and cares for me for no reason other than for the possibility of my conversion to your ridiculous ideals. It's easier just to pretend to agree.

She thinks being a Prince makes you royalty.

Ironic, that.

"Oh, dear, I'm so glad you agree."

'Dear'? That's a new one. She must be really happy.

"I knew there was a reason you responded to our summons so quickly," she gushed. (Snape suppressed a snort with difficulty; not doing so would have been foolishness even beyond the capacity of those idiotic Gryffindors.)

Snape's grandfather stepped back into the conversation. "Come with me, Severus," he said with unprecedented pleasure. "I am incredibly proud of you, you realize. Your actions bring honor to yourself and your family."

What in Merlin's name is he spouting off about?

Matthias continued in this fashion for the few-minute walk to Prince Manor's Apparation point, never actually saying what Snape was doing to bring this 'honor'.

Patroclus Nott, a seventh-year Slytherin who had taunted and injured Snape on numerous occasions, and Lucius Malfoy, five years out of school and still revered by most of his House, were waiting for him.

"I had thought you might take a bit of convincing, but by your grandfather's expression all is well," Nott said genially.

Slytherins . . . stabbing you one day, healing you the next.

"We will be Apparating to an Unplottable and warded location," Malfoy said smoothly in his best aristocratic tones. "Please grip my left arm, Snape."

Highly conscious of his grandfather's eyes on him—there was no backing out now—Snape did as he was told. Unplottable location? What the hell is going on here?

I have a very bad feeling about this.

"Thank you, Mr. Prince," Malfoy said, and with that, they were squeezing through an impossibly narrow tube, the familiarly uncomfortable sensation of Apparation—

They landed in a dark, Dark room lit only by torches. The magic emanating from the very atmosphere here was quite apparent, and not at all good. Familiar, though . . . the addicting feeling of Dark magic, in quantities Snape had never been exposed to, despite his fascination for the subject . . .

Malfoy was speaking. "The Dark Lord is closeted behind those doors." He didn't need to say which ones; there was only one set of doors in the room, huge, made of blackest obsidian carved with serpents. "For reasons I cannot fully comprehend, he has shown a degree of . . . interest in you. You will show him the respect he deserves, even if you should disagree with something he says. Go," he said, turning with a swish of his robes. "The Dark Lord awaits."

And with that, Lucius Malfoy Disapparated with a pop.

Intellectually, Snape knew he would be getting in over his head. He should just Disapparate now and save himself while he could. The Dark Lord was vicious, everyone said, even his most loyal followers. He was merciless and demanded instant obedience. Not to mention the most obvious point—he was evil.

But also, there were words spoken in Slytherin—for, as the most ambitious of the Houses, Slytherin was also the most Dark—of the Dark Lord's power, the sheer volume of it; he could overpower any wizard, they said, even the 'great' Albus Dumbledore. And the paths he opened for his loyal followers . . . learning, power, and opportunities to use that power . . .

Dumbledore's words of caution and restraint flitted into Snape's mind, but they were oddly muffled by the presence of the room. All that is Dark is not evil, the old Headmaster had said, but the old fool had taken it for granted that everyone already knew what 'good' and 'evil' were. . . . Why should he take care not to lose himself in its depths when it was these depths that Snape was feeling now, and it was a more invigorating presence than any he had ever experienced?

Logically, a part of Snape's mind, one of his last vestiges of untouched reason, realized this warped attitude was a function of the room's atmosphere, of some aspect of the innate Darkness in it . . . but another, much larger part didn't care, and quickly subsumed the first. What do the circumstances matter? he thought savagely. I now know real power. I have felt it, and I choose to place myself where I will be near to it!

His mind made up, Severus Snape walked through the carved black doors and into the audience of the Dark Lord. The feeling as he passed directly under the doorframe, under the apex of Dark magic in the area, could only be described as intoxicating.

After a bit of perfunctory conversation, Snape was initiated and tasked with his first mission. He fervently pledged his loyalty to the Dark Lord, not really thinking about the fact that this was for life, that what he was doing was wrong and he knew it; he only knew he had experienced real power for the first time in his life, and would do anything to remain close to it. He was Marked by the Dark Lord personally.

It hurt like a bitch, but he didn't care.

During den-night on April 3, Hermione successfully completed her head transfiguration.

"I'm done," she said, smiling, and received her fair share of congratulations; of the rest of them, Harry was closest to completion, and he hadn't even started on his head transformation. "Now I just have to write my final incantation, make that potion, and drink it."

"You never cease to amaze me, Hermione," Ron said. "Animagus in six months, honestly!"

"Why, thank you, Ron. Do we know anything about the potion?" Hermione looked at Lily; she was by any account the best potioneer in the group.

"It takes three months to brew," she said, and Hermione's heart sank slightly. "Let me just go get something . . ." Lily kept a practiced innocent expression as she disappeared into the library, and Hermione saw nothing out of the ordinary. Probably just trying to find the book or something.

When she emerged, though, she was holding a steaming goblet and sprinkling some sort of powder into it. Smiling widely, she addressed Hermione. "Bottoms up. You've got ten minutes before it goes bad. Wait for it to cool first, I'd say," she added hastily as she saw Hermione bouncing up and down slightly, looking at the goblet eagerly.

"Oh— how did you—"

"Finish it so quickly?" Lily finished with a wry grin. "Simple. I started right after the holidays. Apparently there's a room off the library that works great as a Potions lab . . . nothing elaborate, but enough to work. One ingredient per day for nine days, then let it boil for three months. Simple enough."

Danger narrowed her eyes in mock annoyance. "And would the ninth ingredient have anything to do with my propensity for coughing that whole day? I swear, I couldn't take three steps in Gryffindor Tower without wanting to sneeze."

Lily shrugged. "Guess you're allergic to powdered wolf claw, then. Sorry about that. Hermione, I think it should be cool enough now."

Hermione downed her goblet in four long gulps, then threw it to the ground in disgust and shuddered. "Ugh, it tastes horrible," she complained. "Vinegar, salt, something bitter . . . ugh."

"And the taste remains for a few days," Sirius added pointedly. Hermione grimaced.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" James said. "The book we used for the final incantation is at the bottom of the pile, now get to work!"

"Of course, Professor Potter," she responded primly. For some reason, this made Harry snort with laughter.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Sirius's eye was caught by something Aletha was wearing. "Say, Aletha," he asked curiously, "what's that?"

"Huh? What?" Aletha followed his gaze to— "Oh, that brooch. It's nice, don't you think? My mum gave it to me for Christmas." The brooch was small, wrought in gold in the shape of a stylized bird of prey whose one visible eye contained a sapphire chip.

Something in this conversation piqued Hermione's curiosity. She looked up from her book—and gasped when she saw the brooch. "That's the Ravenclaw brooch!"

"What?" several voices asked.

"That brooch belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw," she repeated. "I saw a description of it in Legacy of the Founders."

Aletha's mouth was hanging open in shock. "Wh– what does that mean?"

"Well, you might be a Ravenclaw Heir. One of her daughters was a Squib, you know. Or your family might have received it from someone else a while back—remember Hepzibah and the Slytherin locket?"

"Yeah," Aletha said. "Yeah, that makes sense." She seized on the second explanation, completely discounting the first. It's more likely, after all, she rationalized, but she knew there was a deeper reason . . .

One of the things Hermione had mentioned caught up with her. "Wait—could this thing be a Horcrux?" Harry had explained Voldemort's immortality during the February den-night, and the implications had certainly been frightening.

Harry frowned. "I don't think so, but there's only one way to find out. Give it to me?" Aletha unclasped the brooch and handed it over. Harry pointed his wand at it, concentrated, and cast, "Prior Incanto!"

Nothing happened.

"You're clear," he said as he returned the brooch. "And it's definitely quite the heirloom you've got."

"Why, thank you."

"Definitely beats mine," Sirius muttered. "For my birthday, dear Mother sent me an heirloom ring." He held it up; it had an ornate letter B inlaid in a black stone, set on a gleaming silver band.

"But didn't they disown you?" Peter asked, puzzled.

Sirius snorted. "Of course they did, but that doesn't mean they'd ignore tradition. Everyone in the old families gets an heirloom ring at seventeen. And it wasn't as if it cost anything; I think there's a whole box of them in the Black vault."

"Why are you keeping it, if you hate your family so much?" Aletha was, as usual, blunt.

"Not all of them are bad," Sirius said softly. "Like my cousin Andie, she's a Healer, and her little three-year-old Nymphadora—let me tell you, she is going to have serious teenage rebellion issues with that name. They're the only family who sent me a Christmas present; they even offered to have me over this summer. Of course, she got disowned too, for marrying a Muggle-born." He shook his head ruefully. "Merlin, my family is screwed up. And then there's my Uncle Alphard, who wrote me just a few days ago saying he'd lend me some money so I could get a place of my own when I need one. I guess I'm keeping the ring for them—so I remember that not all the Blacks are bigoted idiots."

Thinking of her own loving family, Aletha realized just how lucky she was.

Dumbledore was absent for Harry's Occlumency lesson on April 4. The note he left, in typical Dumbledoreian fashion, told Harry a lot without revealing anything at all: he had "some business outside the castle," it said, and he wished to do it when his absence would be less noted. "And if all goes well, we shall have much to discuss on the eleventh."

Harry was reasonably sure all had gone well—Dumbledore was at breakfast the next day, after all, and not apparently injured in any way—so it was with a good deal of excitement that Harry approached the gargoyle a week later.

"Cockroach Cluster!"

The gargoyle slid aside, and Harry walked up the moving staircase and knocked, still wondering what had happened.

"Come in, Harry."

Seeing Dumbledore's left hand made everything clear. A very familiar cracked stone adorned a ring on one of its fingers.

Harry gasped. "Professor— that—"

Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling madly. "Yes, Harry, I have indeed found and destroyed the first Horcrux. Marvolo Gaunt's ring was exactly where you remembered me telling you it was, and protected quite well, I might add. I remembered my injury from your sixth year and searched more diligently than usual for curses. The one that had caused it was well-hidden indeed."

"That's great, Professor! How did you destroy it?"

"I shall tell you tonight, but you will need a bit more theory to understand it. Please sit down, Harry; we have much to discuss."

After doing as asked, Harry realized something. "Er— don't we need to work on my Occlumency, sir?"

"No, I think you are progressing quite well on your own. You are not yet a master of the art, certainly, but what you have left to learn will come simply with time. I believe it is time we use these lessons for a different end."

"What's that, sir?" Harry's curiosity was piqued.

Dumbledore sighed. "There is much magic that is not taught at Hogwarts—magic that I believe you will need on your quest. I hope to instruct you in some of it." He paused for a moment. "Harry, as much as I know you may detest the fact, it remains that you will be the one, with the help of your friends, to destroy Tom's Horcruxes."

"Why, Professor? I'll do it, definitely, but is there any reason you couldn't?"

"You and Tom share a particularly rare connection, Harry," the old wizard said measuredly. "In fact, I would not doubt that yours is the only instance of this connection ever known. As he grew older, Lord Voldemort also grew more knowledgeable in obscure areas of magic, and some of his later creations are sure to be protected by magic that can be dispelled only by him. Or so he believes."

"You think I'll be able to do it too?" Harry was disbelieving, but he figured it was best to ask.

"Indeed. 'The power to vanquish the Dark Lord', is it not? The ability to undo that which no one else could?"

Harry frowned. "Hermione thought something similar, but it just seems—I don't know, I just don't like the idea that magic would see me as a clone of Voldemort."

"Would you care for a lemon drop, Harry?"

Shrugging, he took one, and felt slightly calmer having done so. Calming potion?

"I am sure the other me has probably told you this at one point or another, but it bears repeating. It is not our abilities that make us who we are; it is our choices. Your ability to, shall we say . . . masquerade as Tom does not make you any less of a good person, Harry. It is simply a skill that you have by virtue of your rather unique circumstances, one which will most likely benefit you greatly."

Finally, Harry smiled. "Thanks for the reminder, Professor. I'll keep what you said in mind. Now, what were you saying about the theory behind destroying a Horcrux?"

Dumbledore sighed and cast his eyes downward; it was clear he was highly reticent to discuss such magic. "A Horcrux is a twisted perversion of nature," he said finally. "The soul is meant to inhabit one particular body; magic which changes this basic tenet, such as a Dementor's Kiss or possession, is very Dark magic indeed. Perhaps the Horcrux is the worst of these; in creating a Horcrux, a wizard binds a part of his soul to an object for eternity. The especial magic of the creation, if you could call it that, is that the soul will never leave the confines of the object—thus keeping it protected."

"How is it possible to destroy one, then?" Harry asked worriedly; from what Dumbledore said, having a Horcrux made a wizard almost invincible.

"Effectively, destroying a Horcrux requires forcing the soul fragment imprisoned within it to implode. The soul is forced to stay inside the object, so if one adds sufficient magic to force it out, it is destroyed." Seeing Harry's puzzlement, he asked, "Can you think of no magic that would force a soul to leave a body? It is a spell you already know of."

Harry's frown deepened as he thought. "The Killing Curse?" he asked after a minute. "Is that how it works?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore said gravely, the ever-present twinkle noticeably absent from his eyes. "Though other methods may sometimes work as well . . . basilisk venom, perhaps . . ." Dumbledore trailed off, and said no more on the subject.

Harry's mind was reeling. The Killing Curse? he thought, horrified. I have to cast the Killing Curse to destroy one of these things?

It's only an object, said the more logical part of his mind. Not a person.

But still . . . it may be Voldemort's soul, but it's still a soul . . . I'd be destroying it . . .

Dumbledore changed the subject before Harry could brood too much. "Now, I believe I had mentioned some curse-breaking spells?" he asked, noticeably happier. "The most basic one simply detects whether an object is cursed, and if so, how; it is slightly more flexible than Prior Incanto in that it uses color to show any enchantments on an object, not just the most recent. The incantation is . . ."

Saturday, April 30, was the last Hogsmeade weekend of term. Four Gryffindor couples gathered in the common room, along with Peter (who was going with Rachel) and Sirius and Aletha (who were determinedly not looking at each other). As they were about to head out around nine o'clock A.M., the time most of the stores opened in the village, Danger remembered something.

"Pack!" Ten heads turned. "I had another dream last night. I only remember a bit of it, but I think we need to each bring something meaningful—sentimental, whatever—to Hogsmeade today."

"Why?" Ron asked.

Danger grimaced. "I have no idea, can't remember, but somehow I've got a bad feeling about this. Just do it, please."

Nodding, Ron, Ginny, and Remus ran up to their dormitories. Everyone else already had something with them. Looking closely, Danger noticed thin chains around several necks, and Aletha wearing her brooch . . .

The three came back down, and they were off to Hogsmeade. They met up with Rachel in the Great Hall—Danger noticed a similar chain around her neck as well—and, after being duly prodded by Filch's Secrecy Sensor, were walking down the road to High Street and the Three Broomsticks.

For the first time, all twelve of the Pack sat around one large table and simply enjoyed each other's company. They chatted of inconsequential things—school, lives, careers. By unspoken consent, none of them discussed the war. Today was to be a day to get away from it all, the first one all of them had ever really had.

Unfortunately, what is to be rarely comes to pass.

Suddenly, Danger slumped in her chair, asleep. Remus's eyes swirled with brown and widened before he closed them to concentrate. "She's having a prophecy . . . Don't wake her, please."

As Danger heard, Remus spoke, and the world got a little colder.

"The time of testing comes apace,
A time when every wolf must face
The greatest fear or dread she knows
And choose to fight for love his foes.
The lion-hearted wolf will find
Unwavering call to realm of mind
Unknown to all, yet home for three
A choice to make, forever be.
The others must defend the right
And find their strength and choose to fight
Each one his own; whatever may,
The dark will find you all this day.
But first that magic must be done
Which takes the twelve and makes them one—
Take that which circles blood and flesh,
Yet has no bottom. Make it mesh
With blood from each, and then recite
The oath the warrior knows to write
Which long ago was sworn by they
Whose hearts beat true in you today;
The singing of the fire's bird
Shall help remember what she heard.
The testing time does quickly near;
It lies in you to conquer fear,
O lynx of lion true; so call
The wanderer home to save you all.
The eagle-hearted truth must give
The star the sound to help him live
And feathers red command his own
So prove to you from yours you've grown.
If then this night you can endure,
Upon the morrow it is sure
You'll find each other, find your Den,
And each one live to fight again."

Remus and Danger's eyes snapped open, Danger's with a half-stifled scream.

"What did that mean?" Ron asked, wide-eyed. "It didn't make any sense to me."

"I don't know," Danger said shakily, "but it didn't seem good. I guess we could write it down and try to figure it out, but I've never had one hit while I'm awake before—I think it's urgent, don't know if we'll have time . . ."

A voice shrieked from outside the pub. "Death Eaters! In the village!"

And the spine-deep coldness they were beginning to feel was seeming less and less like any sort of odd weather by the moment . . .

Ron characterized the situation with three emotive words. Hermione didn't even scold him.

(A/N: Yes, I'm quite evil. Leaving you with a nasssty clifffie . . .

Don't hate Snape TOO much. The atmosphere of the room had a large effect on his decision; Voldemort keeps it that way intentionally.

Next chapter: "Don't Look Back," with plenty of action! Coming your way in, oh, about a week or so.)