"Finally, Peter!" James exclaimed, running across the lawn that stretched around his home to grab his friend's suitcase. "Remus arrived three days ago. What took you so long?"

"My parents wanted to drive me up before they left," Peter said, gesturing to his mother and father waiting in the car parked behind them. They were going to be spending the summer in Australia, wanting to get away from the rising anti-Muggle-born tensions that were consuming Britain more and more each day. Remus's father was also out of the country, engaged in urgent Ministry business, so all four of the Marauders were going to be spending the summer with James's family.

Peter bade his parents goodbye and followed James back across the lawn to his house, a beautiful country manor three times the size of the home Peter had grown up in. Peter had known James's family had money, but not quite this much money.

"Wormtail!" Sirius clopped down the steps leading off the front porch and tackled Peter into a hug, Remus doing the same a couple steps behind him. James's parents were waiting in front of the open door, beaming at the boys. Both of them were as elderly and frail as Peter had remembered, with Mr Potter leaning heavily against a cane, but at the same time they looked lighter and more carefree than Peter had seen his parents in years. The advantages of being a pair of wealthy purebloods, Peter supposed.

"Welcome, Peter," Mrs Potter said brightly. "You're just in time for dinner."

"My mum makes the best shepherd's pie," James told him, grinning and swinging his suitcase behind him. "Hopefully it hasn't gone cold after how long we've had to wait for you."

"Oh, shush, James," Mrs Potter reprimanded. "It hasn't."

The Potters led the way inside, with Peter gaping around at the ornate high windows and bright white painting-adorned walls. "Nice, isn't it?" Remus said, falling into step beside him.

Peter nodded. Remus was looking a bit ill—the full moon had passed just a couple of nights before, and supposedly James and Sirius had had to restrain him with enchanted shackles in the woods behind James's house. Peter was sure it hadn't been fun for any of them; he was almost glad he had missed it.

The Marauders took their seats at the Potters' kitchen table, where plates had already been set out for the six of them filled with generous helpings of shepherd's pie and glazed carrots. Peter dug in eagerly; he hadn't eaten since early in the morning.

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the radio behind them playing soft strains of music interspersed with advertisements for broom wax and owl carriers. "How are your parents doing, Peter?" Mr Potter finally asked around a bite of pie.

"They're all right, sir," Peter said. "They just wanted to get out of the country for a bit, with everything going on." Lots of British Muggle-borns were getting away this summer—Fiona's family had gone to visit her grandparents in Japan. Peter had promised to write to her every week; he hoped James would let him borrow his owl.

Mr Potter shook his head. "Such a shame, our own wizards feeling they have to flee in fear," he said. "I pray all of this will be over soon—but I'm glad you were able to join us this summer, Peter. My wife and I have heard so much about you from James and Sirius."

Peter smiled, wondering exactly what James and Sirius had told Mr Potter about him. Hopefully they'd left out his lack of talent in nearly every magical subject.

"Hey, Peter," Sirius said from beside him, pulling him from his thoughts. "You won't believe what showed up for James a couple days after we got back."

"What, like a gift?"

"Of a sort." Putting down his water goblet, James left the kitchen table and returned a few moments later brandishing a shiny badge.

"No way," said Peter, squinting to read the badge's golden lettering. "Head Boy?"

"I know." James tossed the badge in the air and caught it deftly between two fingers. "I couldn't believe it either. Dumbledore must be mental."

"Sit down, James," Mrs Potter said. "And don't call Professor Dumbledore mental." James rolled his eyes and plopped back down into his seat.

"I thought for sure Remus would get it, if any of us were to," Peter said, glancing at him. "You were a prefect, after all."

"Not a very good one," Remus replied. "I never stopped any of you from getting into trouble, did I? Joined you, more often than not." He smiled at James. "I'm not upset; Head Boy's a big responsibility. And Lily's going to be Head Girl—she's already written to me about it."

"Now I get why you'd accept the badge," Peter said. James gave him a wink.

The radio cut off abruptly in the middle of a Hobgoblins song, a man's deep voice cutting in: "We interrupt this program, I'm afraid, to report some dreadful news. Two half-bloods by the names of Elizabeth and Martin Sheffield have been found dead outside their home in Battersea along with their three young children—Muggle eyewitnesses claim the attack was carried out by two cloaked men believed to be Death Eaters. The Ministry has issued a general warning to all witches and wizards of Muggle descent living in the greater London area to remain on-guard until the perpetrators are apprehended. As always, the WWN condemns the senseless and discriminatory violence carried out by the followers of He Who Must Not Be Named and implores all listeners to stay safe and informed through these challenging times."

And then the station returned to the Hobgoblins song as if nothing had happened, Stubby Boardman crooning obliviously about love potions and dark-eyed witches. Peter set down his fork, his appetite gone. A numbness spread across his fingers. They were half-bloods; they hadn't even been Muggle-borns.

"Martin Sheffield," Mrs Potter said quietly. "We went to school with his mother, don't you remember, Fleamont?"

"Quite," Mr Potter murmured. "She was a brilliant Chaser. We were all shocked when she married a Muggle…and now her son…."

James was watching Peter closely as the color leached from his cheeks. "I think we're all done here," he said. "Thanks for dinner, Mum."

"Of course, darling." With a glance to her husband, Mrs Potter flicked her wand and sent the Marauders' dirty dishes flying into the kitchen sink to be scrubbed and rinsed.

"Come on, then." James led the others away from the table and the radio and brought them upstairs to his room, with Peter trailing behind while a massive lump grew to constrict his throat. More wizards dead…more Death Eaters…. The Ministry wouldn't be able to apprehend them; they almost never were. Voldemort's followers were incredibly slippery, and incredibly good at killing people like him.

Peter stepped inside James's room, shivering, and blinked around at the Quidditch team posters and pictures of laughing little boys on broomsticks that surrounded its walls. A stuffed lion sat amongst the red-and-gold sheets of James's bed, and a small stag figurine stood atop his dresser, pawing at its burnished wood.

"You like my room, Wormtail?" James asked.

"It's…." Peter searched his brain for the right word, but his mind was too full of Death Eaters and Killing Curses to function properly.

"It's very happy," Remus finished for him. "And…almost like a time capsule."

"I've hardly changed anything in here since I first left for Hogwarts," James said. "It's a little boys' room. I dunno why I've kept it this way."

"I don't blame you," Peter murmured. "I'd rather not live in a time where—where wizards are being killed in the streets every day and there's nothing we can do about it."

James looked at him with an intense glint in his eyes. "There is something we can do about it, Petey. Maybe not right now, but once we graduate next year. And we are going to do something. Right?"

"Like what?" Sirius asked. "Become Aurors and go fight Death Eaters? That'd take us three years, Prongs, even if they were mad enough to accept us."

"And there's no way I could ever work for the Ministry," Remus added softly. "They'd find out about me, and they'd—they'd make me register. I'd be done for."

"That's not what I was thinking," James said. He flicked his gaze across each Marauder in turn. "You don't have to be an Auror to join the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore knows us; he'll let us join. I hear Frank and Alice were inducted into the Order a week after they finished their seventh year."

The Order of the Phoenix: Dumbledore's secret army of witches and wizards dedicated to thwarting Voldemort and his Death Eaters, sometimes covertly and sometimes in open battle. Either way, the prospect sounded daunting to Peter. "What if Dumbledore doesn't let me in?" he wondered. "He knows I'm not as good a wizard as any of you."

"Rubbish," Sirius said. "I've heard he takes anyone, so long as he knows they're loyal." He gave Peter a sly smile. "And you're not entirely useless, Wormy. You are an Animagus, after all."

"Yes, but Dumbledore can't know that."

"We'll know it," James said. "Dumbledore's got to let you join. And he'll let you join, too, Remus—he doesn't care that you're a werewolf."

"He's got to care a little bit," Remus muttered.

"Not enough to keep you out of the Order! He trusts you, Re, you know that. So long as he doesn't find out you're sneaking out of the Shack with us on full moons, at least." Remus glanced guiltily down at his feet.

"Well, I'm all for joining the Order," Sirius said. "My parents would be horrified, and that's a good enough reason for me to do anything."

James grinned at him. "Moony? Wormtail? What do you say?"

"If they'll have me, I'll join," Remus answered. "So many werewolves are working for Voldemort now—maybe I could…change perceptions a bit, if I fought against him instead."

"Fantastic, Moony. I knew you'd be for it. Peter?"

All three Marauders were looking to Peter now. He shrunk beneath their gazes. He didn't want to fight anyone, certainly not the Death Eaters; but they were going to come after him regardless, and at least with the Order and his friends by his side, he would have some protection. "I'll join too," he decided. Maybe they could find some less dangerous tasks for him to perform—everyone knew he was a terrible duelist, after all.

"That's settled, then," said James, his grin widening. "One more year at Hogwarts, and then onto the war. Just don't tell my parents, any of you. I don't think they could stomach it."

Peter couldn't stomach it, either—he felt nauseous just thinking about it. But James was right: they still had one more year at school, where Dumbledore and the professors would keep them all safe from the world outside. Maybe Peter would be a bit braver by the end of it. He certainly hoped so.

Sirius raised his hand in a fake toast. "To our final summer of boyish innocence," he said. The Marauders lifted their fists to rap them against his. "And to our last year at Hogwarts. May it be filled with painless full moons, brilliant Quidditch wins, and an abundance of mischief-making."

"Hear, hear," the others chorused.