Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. All characters, places, descriptions, etc. (unless original and created by me) belong to her.
Summary: It was a small pack, of course, just the five of them, but together they were something wild. Hermione finds herself in the Marauder's Era with four new best friends.
A/N: Heads up! There's a bit of Death Eater violence in this chapter.
Enjoy and let me know what you think!
Chapter 61: Dulce Bellum Inexpertis*
27 July 1978
Potter Manor
They gathered at Potter Manor beforehand. They'd dressed up for the occasion even, looking a little smarter, a little cleaner, a little older than usual. Remus' jaw was completely smooth for the first time in weeks. Lily and James had a glow of a summer tan and young love. Peter wore a tie. Hermione, for her part, smiled along with everyone's excited. Sirius noticed it never quite reached her eyes.
They'd gathered with plenty of time to catch up. Charlus was present too, taking the chair next to Hermione and smiling as his sons basked in their reunion. Lily gushed over the small details of their honeymoon; James never let go of her hand. As the conversation turned from the Order, Hermione didn't have to force a smile.
They sat for tea and biscuits, playing pretend at adults for as long as they could before the temptation of reverting to childlike behavior became too much. Peter threw bits of biscuit for Remus to catch in his mouth. Sirius retreated to the record player to adjust the music to something a bit more his style. Lily moved to sit on James' lap.
"Dorea would have loved to see this."
Hermione turned to look at Charlus watching the kids before him. She reached out to place her hand atop his. At her touch, he smiled and turned his head to look at her. There was a slight sheen to his eyes, but he looked genuinely happy.
"I never got a chance to thank you for your help in the days after."
"Oh, I did nothing." Hermione looked at her hands. "I think Lily was the greatest help of all."
"Yes," Charlus smiled. "They're certainly something, aren't they?"
The pair watched Lily and James in an isolated moment. With those two, it always seemed as if they were the only people in a room. They had a way of only seeing each other.
"Dorea and I were much the same. It's a blessing of the Potter men, you see." His eyes twinkled and Hermione couldn't help but smile. "We do so love our wives."
Sirius, having finally settled on his music choice, wandered back over to the group, choosing now to sit on the other side of Charlus. He reached out and patted the man on the shoulder.
"Alright there, Dad?" The term of endearment had always slid so easily off his tongue. Sirius could remember the first time he accidentally called Charlus "dad." James had laughed, Dorea had smiled, and Charlus had winked and called him "son."
"Whoever said getting old was a blessing was fully of shit."
Sirius and Hermione met eyes across Charlus and couldn't contain their laughter. Charlus smiled at the sound.
"I'm alright, my boy. Just tired. I can't quite keep up with you kids like I used to." He stood from his chair then, Hermione and Sirius rising as well. "I'll get on out of your hair now. I'm sure you'd like some more time to be children before you're soldiers."
Hermione reached up to hug Charlus. He smelled fatherly. Hermione loved it.
"Take care of them, Hermione," he whispered in her ear.
"I will," she whispered back even as her stomach sank at a promise she knew she couldn't keep.
Charlus and Sirius embraced tightly, the elder clapping the younger on the back. They shared a meaningful look before Charlus turned to address the rest of the room and announce his departure. James hugged his father as Lily looking on, and they all watched as Charlus lingered at Dorea's portrait for a moment before leaving.
James turned reluctantly from the door and nodded at his friends. He looked at Lily.
"Time to go?"
"Time to go."
"Alright you lot," Peter clapped his hands as he stood. "Let's go save the world."
12 Grimmauld Place
They gathered in the Library, dressed up for no apparent occasion, but that was the usual. Orion's dark suit was expertly pressed. Walburga's jewels shined. Regulus' jaw held a shadow of rebellion. He hadn't shaved that day. They sat in silence with stern faces, lifted chins, and straight backs.
They'd gathered for a façade of familiarity. Orion reviewed paperwork; Walburga alternated between reading a book and talking mindlessly at her husband. Regulus stared at the fire; he'd taken to sitting in what he now considered to be Hermione's chair.
They sat for tea and biscuits, playing pretend at a happy family for as long as they could before descending into silence once more. Regulus listened to the ticking of the clock on the wall, waiting for this absurd ritual to conclude. He wanted to escape this house, this prison. His neck tie felt like a band of Devil's Snare just moments from squeezing too tight.
"Your final year, my son, what are your expectations?"
Regulus lifted his eyes from the flames to see his mother looking at him. He cleared his throat.
"I suspect a great part of the year will be dominated by N.E.W.T. studies, but I'm confident I'll still be able to make time for other fulfilling endeavors."
His mother hummed in agreement. "And these endeavors?"
"I—" Regulus' finger twitched unseen beside him. "I've decided to rejoin the quidditch team."
A flare of anger and annoyance sparked in Walburga's eyes. She opened her mouth, but quickly shut it again as Orion spoke.
"Ah, good, good." His father's voice was surprisingly warm. Deep and strong, but it held a warmth that had always confused his sons. "A little quidditch should be good for you. As long as it doesn't interfere with your studies, of course."
"Of course, father."
Salazar, this was stifling. Had life in this house always been this stilted? His parents barely talked to each other now. Their viewpoints on the Dark Lord differed to such a degree that it made itself known. When they did speak, they fought. Orion, Regulus knew, was a cautious businessman. It was part of the reason the House of Black never wavered in its standing, but also part of the reason it never took risks like the House of Malfoy. His father was confident the Dark Lord would usher in a new era, but he was more than happy to remain by the wayside, a silent financier of change.
His mother, on the hand, was the reason he was now marked. Orion had shut himself in his office for three days when he had found out. Walburga hadn't noticed. She'd been too proud of her son.
Merlin, he hated it here.
36 days. 36 days until he'd be back at Hogwarts. Back with his friends and back in rooms that filled with whispering and talking and laughing and bickering and teasing and noise, just-just noise. He'd have one more year to fucking live on his own before he was burdened with the full responsibility of being the heir.
And then, as if to remind him that nothing ever went his way, Regulus' mark started to burn.
He flinched, dropping his cup of tea. He barely noticed as the content splashed the carpet or as Kreacher popped into the room at his feet. He clenched his eyes tight, thinking not for the first time that he should just cut off his arm, rip the skin away with his teeth, or burn it all down to bone.
"Time to go?" Walburga's voice brought him back from wishful thinking. It would never have been that easy anyway. Regulus stood and nodded at his parents.
"Time to go."
#0107 Bellume St.
The brownstone was surprising, although Hermione honestly didn't know what she was expecting. Something dark and dusty like Grimmauld Place had been when they'd all moved in? But no, Number 0107 was warm and bright. It had clearly been transformed to adequately host the Order's Headquarters, but it managed to keep a distinctly homey feel. Hermione and the others glanced all around as they were led down a tight hallway.
Professor McGonagall had greeted them warmly as soon as they'd arrived. She'd congratulated James and Lily, tittered at Sirius' shameless flirting. It was comforting and usual, like all of this was usual. They were brought into what was most certainly the war room. A large table made of dark, dark wood. A map of the Wizarding British Isles laid upon it. Charts posted along the walls detailing Ministry departments, suspected Death Eaters, potential strongholds. As the group crowded into the room, Professor McGonagall nodded at them before taking her leave, shutting the door behind her.
Across the expanse of the table, Dumbledore stood with a soft smile on his face.
"Welcome, my friends, to the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix."
Hermione wanted to throw up. Beside her, the boys and even Lily were grinning widely. Bright shiny teeth on display, chests puffed out in preemptive pride. Her fingers twitched unseen at her side.
"The Order was formed as a result of the Ministry failing to contain the threat that the man called Voldemort poses to the wizarding world." Dumbledore clasped his hands in front of him, nodding solemnly. "We are here to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves, to protect those who are vulnerable, and to create a better world for the whole of wizarding-kind."
Hermione could feel James beside her practically vibrating in excitement.
"I hope you all have taken an adequate amount of time to consider your decision in joining as it is not a light one to make. It will be dangerous and it will be draining, but it will be worth it."
"We're all in, Professor." Remus spoke up. "All of us. We're ready."
Dumbledore looked at each of them in turn. Hermione wandered what he saw. Two werewolves? A blood traitor? A pair of newlyweds? A simple boy? She swallowed and looked at her friends, her breath quickening at what she saw. A lonely survivor. A broken man. A pair of ghosts. A traitor.
How? How did it happen? She knew the timeline. She knew it would be just a few years before the unimaginable happened, but she couldn't imagine the bright eyes before her hardening to such a degree in that short time. Her heart beat in her chest like fists against a locked door.
Remus and Sirius both leaned forward to look at her, concern etched between their brows. She smiled weakly and nodded, focusing on her breathing and the fraying rope in her mind.
"Ah, splendid indeed." Dumbledore's smile unfurled across his face and Hermione was reminded of that tricky cat in the children's story she'd once read. "Then let's not waste any more time."
The Headmaster produced and unfurled a piece of parchment, golden ink shining on the page. At the top, the words "Order of the Phoenix." Below, a list of signatures. Hermione scanned the names quickly, trying to decipher each bit of handwriting before she looked up at Dumbledore. She raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the page. Dumbledore merely nodded and handed her a quill.
She looked down to see what was clearly a phoenix feather. Of course, she'd bet anything that it was one belonging to Fawkes. She looked down the line of her friends, and for a moment, Hermione felt afraid. The boys all smiled at her, and even Lily nodded encouragingly. Once more unto the breach, she thought, and Hermione Granger signed her name.
12 Grimmauld Place
Regulus had taken as much time as he could bear changing into his darkest robes. Walburga had bought him a new set specifically for meetings after Kreacher had complained of his troubles removing the blood. He stood there in his bedroom, grinding his teeth as the pain grew to a throbbing mass that surrounded his left arm. Black spots dotted his vision, narrowing in as white noise rose like static in his head.
When it was too much to bear, Regulus cursed his weakness, stumbled out the door, and apparated away.
Lestrange Hall
The gates opened automatically as he approached the grand estate. He proceeded down the long drive alone, nodded at the house elf who opened the door, and walked inside. Alone.
No one greeted him. No one directed him. But he knew these halls. He'd trailed behind his brother in these halls, spied on his cousins, stiffly stood beside his parents, met his future classmates in these halls. He knew, intimately, the Lestrange ancestral house, but the chill in the air made him feel like a stranger.
He followed the sound of screams, his boots echoing against the dark marble floors like he was counting the seconds it took before whoever was crying out needed to breathe.
Regulus walked into the main ballroom to find what had become, to his indifferent horror, a familiar sight.
Those in attendance stood in two circles. The inner circle reserved of course for the Dark Lord's most trusted followers. They stood in a perfect circle, looking all the more like statues with their masks firmly in place. Those in the inner circle were granted the masks, but their identities to the others in the room were far from secret. It was an honor, a gift, they'd boast at dinners and cocktail parties, to be so recognized by the Dark Lord.
Regulus shifted around the outer edge of the room. This was as close as he'd ever want to be. Those in the outer circle moved and murmured around him as Regulus peeked through silhouettes to see tonight's entertainment.
A man had been shoved to his knees, sweat matting his hair to his temples. He shook with slight tremors, falling to his side in his imbalance. Regulus cocked his head. He was clearly late. Someone had already crucioed this man.
The Dark Lord was speaking, his wand shoved under the chin of the man, but Regulus tuned it out as he searched the crowd of the outer circle. Finding a worthy prey, he weaved in and out of the spectators.
"You're late," Narcissa Black whispered as Regulus settled beside her.
"I was delayed."
Narcissa's hand found his and she squeezed it for just a second before dropping it.
"You shouldn't be here." Regulus took a second to look at his cousin. Beautiful as ever, she looked different somehow. Something with her hair maybe? He couldn't put his finger on it.
"I am here as a guest," she muttered back. Regulus followed her gaze to a group standing on the inner most edge of the outer circle.
"Ah, right," Regulus smirked and leaned into Narcissa. "And how is dear Lucius?"
Narcissa blushed and twisted her heel to step on Regulus' toe. His visible cringe made her lips quirk upward in victory.
A broken scream shook the chandeliers overhead. Regulus and Narcissa stilled once more.
"Who is he?" Regulus asked after a moment.
"Montgomery Ledlow," Narcissa whispered, her eyes now darting to ensure no one was listening to them. "A ministry employee. I don't know all the details, obviously, but apparently he's been pushing for an expansion of the Wizengamot. Wants to include Muggles for a different perspective."
Regulus grimaced. That was certainly more than enough to land him here on the floor of Lestrange Hall. He looked back at Narcissa. Her jaw was tight, but he could tell she was being careful enough not to clench in a way as to make her face appear too masculine. Her chin was raised and her eyes were set on the display before her. But there was a glaze and a distance to them. She was occluding.
Regulus looked down, picked up her hand to squeeze once more, and then turned his attention to the Dark Lord.
"—trying to diminish the power of those who have created, cultivated and maintained the world in which you live." The Dark Lord turned from the man quaking on the ground to walk amongst his followers, stopping for a moment before each one to look deep into their eyes. His voice was velvet; his eyes piercing. "He would see your legacies destroyed. He would ignore your efforts and accomplishments, taking from you what you have rightly earned. Your children, left to fend for themselves, futures uncertain. He would put in control those who do not understand our world, where we've been, where we are going."
"This man, and those like Dumbledore—" He paused as the crowd before him jeered at the name. "Yes, those like Dumbledore, who reject those magics deemed as dark because they want to hold us back from our truest potential. They want to hold on to their own power, happy to let Muggles—" Again he had to pause for the crowd's reaction. "—hold control if it means we are controlled."
Lord Voldemort swept back to the center of the circle to stand over the man now prostrate, begging with tears streaming down his face. Regulus had to look away, uncomfortable seeing such a forceful display of emotion. His nose twinged and his lip curled in disgust as he realized the poor man had wet himself. The Dark Lord sneered down before looking around the room again.
"There is no good and evil. There is no light and dark." He stepped out to clasp a hand on a Death Eater's shoulder. "But there is weakness, and there is power. There is fear, and there is ambition. There are those who would see us trampled for their own purposes, but… There are those who want to guide us into a new age, to be your Lord and Leader."
The Dark Lord walked slowly back to tower over the man huddled on the ground. He shook out his left hand to draw through his inky hair and smiled as he held out his arms toward the man.
"Mr. Ledlow, I see your fear. I see your weakness. But it is nothing compared to the ambition of my followers." He twisted his wand arm and narrowed his eyes. "And you are nothing compared to my power."
"Avada Kedavra."
#0107 Bellume St.
Hermione felt like she was walking through a dream as she watched her friends sign their names below hers. She was watching her friends sign away their chance to avoid the war. She was watching her friends sign their death wish.
But it was over quickly. Dumbledore flicked his wand and the parchment rerolled itself as he smiled brightly back at them.
The door behind them opened again, and the group filed outside. Looking behind at Dumbledore like birds leaving the nest for the first time, they moved forward at his encouraging. For the first time since arriving, Hermione noticed the noise.
Laughter and music pulled them through the halls to the back garden of the brownstone. The garden was small, but packed with people. Many Hermione didn't recognize, but a few, to her growing horror, she knew all too well.
She was screaming inside. Eyes wide as she took in the living ghosts before her.
A pair of red heads, standing a head above the crowd. Laugh lines already deep set. Fabian and Gideon Weasley.
A man with grizzled hair, a wooden leg, and surprisingly, two dark beady eyes. Alastor Moody.
A couple, talking animatedly, each with an arm tightly wound around the other. The youth and fire in their eyes a stark contrast to the shadows Hermione had met. Frank and Alice Longbottom.
"You okay?"
Hermione tore her eyes from the crowds to see Marlene McKinnon settling beside her, an offered drink in her hand. Hermione smiled and took the drink, freezing with the glass to her lips as a memory flooded in.
"Marlene McKinnon, she was killed two weeks after this was taken, they got her whole family."
Ghosts. They were all ghosts.
Hermione gulped down a mouthful of what turned out to be an achingly sweet punch along with the bile that had risen up inside her. The burn of whatever liquor was in the punch married nicely with the burn of her stomach acid trailing down her throat.
"Just overwhelmed, I think," she managed to respond to Marlene who nodded in turn.
"Dorcas and I arrived just a bit before you all." She pointed the girl out in the crowd, now talking with Lily. "I can't believe we're really here."
Hermione could only nod and take another drink.
"I think this is the most adult I've felt since leaving Hogwarts," Marlene continued. "I mean, Dorcas and I've just moved into our flat, and I've started at the Prophet already, but… This feels real. This feels like we're not just following along anymore, you know."
Again, Hermione nodded.
"I heard you moved in with Sirius and Remus, how's that been?"
"Good," Hermione found herself replying. "Great, really. It's been really, really great."
"Can't imagine living with two boys, let alone those two." Marlene's laughter was light and airy. Hermione wanted to chase it.
"They're not so bad. We-we make it work."
"Good," Marlene's smile was so sincere. "I'm glad. It seems like you're all taking care of each other."
"Yes," Hermione smiled back, only slightly forced this time. "We are."
"I think that's all we can do right now."
After Marlene left to catch up with Lily, Hermione shifted around the outer edge of the garden. Dumbledore dominated the center, and this was as close as she wanted to be to the man right now. The other Order members moved around Hermione like a living piece of art.
Ghosts. They were all ghosts.
She walked amongst them like a visitor in a museum, hearing their stories, learning their names, feeling the weight of the moment they didn't know they were living in.
Frank and Alice were bubbly, rivaling James and Lily with their obvious love for each other. They were both aurors, that much Hermione already knew, both rising stars within the division. Frank, it turned out, was set to be one of the trainers for the new class. James and Sirius were stoked to talk shop and, in their words, get an edge on the competition. Alice glowed as Frank regaled her as the more accomplished of the pair. She was too essential to the department, apparently, to be wasted on the recruits. Alice basked in the endearments. Hermione wanted to cry.
Fabian and Gideon were showing everyone they could pictures of their twin nephews.
"Take after us already," Fabian grinned.
"Can't wait to teach them everything we know," Gideon flashed his own smile.
Five Death Eaters. It would take five Death Eaters to bring these two down.
Hermione refilled her glass.
She looked around the garden at those in attendance. She and her friends were clearly the youngest, but, except for Dumbledore himself, Hermione was the only one here with actual war experience. The aurors spotted around were heroic and strong, but they hadn't yet seen the true face of war. And yet, here gathered the Order, laughing and drinking, having a party. A laugh bubbled up, escaping Hermione. This was absurd. There was a war brewing, beginning, happening around them, and they were acting like it was no big deal.
There was talk of excitement, of eagerness to fight, to act. No looks of worry or wonder or questioning or fear. The energy was electric and-and happy. Hermione looked around in abject horror. Everyone here was happy.
So she kept her mouth shut. And she stuck to the outer edges of the garden. She walked amongst ghosts and let them live out these moments. Happy.
As the drinks flowed and the night carried on, Dumbledore moved to stand on the steps of the porch, like a politician on a dais. He looked out on the gathered Order of the Phoenix and smiled his Cheshire grin, his eyes twinkling all the while.
Hermione tuned him out, moving as quickly as possible to a less populated area of the garden, throwing up a muffliatoand vomiting into the bushes. Her fingers twitched at her side. She stood and wiped her lips, grabbing a forgotten glass off the garden wall and rinsing her mouth. She took a deep breath and searched the crowd. Finding a member of her pack, she weaved in and out of the ghosts.
She settled beside Sirius and leaned into his side. His hand found hers and he squeezed it for just a second before dropping it. Hermione turned her attention to Dumbledore.
"—darkness threatening our world. I have gathered you all here, now, to be beacons of light. I have fought darkness such as this before, persons who desire power and control beyond what anyone should desire, and yet light won. Light will always win over darkness."
The Order of the Phoenix cheered. Dumbledore lifted his wand, the tip illuminated.
"Together, my friends, we will spread light and vanquish this darkness. To the Light!"
"To the Light!" Wands lit up the night, reaching toward the stars.
"To the Order of the Phoenix!" Dumbledore raised his glass with his other hand.
"To the Order of the Phoenix!"
"To Dumbledore!" A voice from the crowd.
"To Dumbledore!"
Lestrange Hall
At some point in the night, Regulus had managed to escape with Narcissa to one of the lounges on the second floor of the Hall. They'd been coming here since they were barely able to walk, and this particular lounge had served as their playroom, their hideaway, their refuge.
Narcissa and Regulus walked in to see the room already occupied by Antonin Dolohov and Corban Yaxley, a crystal bottle of scotch settled on the floor between the chairs in which they'd sprawled themselves.
"Took you long enough," Yaxley smirked. Antonin stood, bowing slightly to Narcissa, before moving to grab two more glasses.
"Did you even bother showing face downstairs or have you two been holed up here all this time?" Regulus collapsed across the couch, accepting his glass from Antonin. Narcissa smirked against her own glass as she took the chair now abandoned.
Antonin shrugged in his silence and leaned against the unlit fireplace, sipping his scotch slowly with his eyes on Narcissa.
"Why are you here, Цветочек."
Narcissa sipped delicately at her drink, leaning forward to place it on the coffee table before responding.
"I am here as a guest, Медведь." She smiled sweetly. "Probably more welcome than you are."
"Of course," Corban clutched at his chest as a grin erupted on his face. "My friends, we forget ourselves. The future Lady of the House of Malfoy sits before us, gracing us with her presence."
Regulus snorted as Narcissa stood from her chair and curtsied deeply before them, gracefully floating to the ground and leaning forward before rising back to her feet effortlessly.
"You'll do well to remember that, Yax," she laughed and sat again.
"Still can't believe you'll be married by this time next year."
"Jealous?"
"You wish, Black."
"Hmm, maybe I do." Narcissa looked through her lashes at Yaxley across the room. He sputtered as he tried to swallow a mouthful of scotch. Antonin laughed and moved to knock him on the back. Narcissa and Regulus smirked at each other.
"I hate when you do that," Yaxley muttered when he could breathe again.
"You know you love me," Narcissa laughed.
"Against all odds."
"Anything important?" Antonin moved to stand beside Regulus. "We left near the end."
"He just wanted to talk to Rab and his brother. Nothing that pertains to us." Regulus shifted to make room on the couch for his friend. "I don't know if it's because they think we can't do shit or because we're still in school."
"Who cares," Antonin knocked back the rest of his drink. "We've got the marks. We're in. I'm more than happy to ride coattails from here."
"It's 'cause he's shy," Yaxley spoke in a false whisper to Narcissa.
"I have plans, сука. Plans I need to be alive for. So I am okay if we're not called as often as others."
"I think it's because he doesn't want to have to hide his pretty face behind one of those masks," Regulus said. Antonin rolled his eyes.
"Lucius wants that," Narcissa spoke, softly in that way she did. Her voice was quiet and gentle, but the boys always stopped to listen. "He's aiming for the inner circle."
"And now that he's head of his house…" Yaxley started. Narcissa nodded at him. "Damn. You ready for that, Flower?"
"It's like you don't even know me, Yax." Narcissa's smile was practiced. "I'm always ready."
"Well then, I guess we've just got to make the most of this year before we never see you again." Yaxley smirked before yelping as Narcissa pinched his side.
"I am engaged," she rolled her eyes. "Not dying."
"Yeah, yeah," he waved her off before leaning forward to pour himself another drink.
"But," Narcissa began slowly. Regulus saw her walls drop for just a moment. "I like the idea of making the most of this year. We're all together—"
"No more Granger so Лев will have to endure our company." Antonin stared at Regulus, who didn't react but for a twitch of his finger at his side and a slight redness rising to his cheeks. He rolled his eyes in defeat as his friend's zeroed in on his blush.
Antonin laughed deeply.
"Oh fuck you, you great Russian bear."
"Yes, that was interesting, wasn't it." Narcissa looked knowingly at her cousin. "And she's what? Living with Sirius now, is that right?"
"How do you even know that?" Yaxley asked.
"My dear, I know everything."
"Yes, she's living with Sirius." Regulus held out his glass for Yaxley to refill. "Not that it's any of your business."
"Oh how devastatingly romantic," Yaxley laughed, once more clutching his chest. "Star-crossed lovers. Caught on opposite sides of a war. A love triangle with your own brother—Fuck!" Yaxley cursed as Regulus' stinging jinx hit his upper thigh.
"Don't listen to him, Лев," Antonin grumbled. "I think she's been good for you. Keeps you from wallowing in shit."
"I don't wallow." Regulus could feel himself pouting.
"Oh, little lion, you do," Narcissa tutted as she hid her laughter behind her hand. "You really do."
"Salazar, why do I put up with you lot?"
"Because," Yax drained his glass and refilled it again. "We're fun."
"One more year," Regulus muttered, more to himself than the others.
"One more year." Antonin nodded at him, stiffened his jaw and held out his glass. Narcissa and Yaxley did the same. Regulus looked at the amber liquid swirling in his own glass, lost in its depths for just a second before he extended his hand.
"One more year."
He drained his glass.
28 July 1978
Ancient & Antiquated
The banging on the shop door downstairs woke Peter. Merlin, how much of that blasted punch had he drunk? His head rushed as he swung himself out of bed, blearily stumbling about his room trying to become some form of decent.
The banging continued as he cursed under his breath. How many iterations of "Merlin's saggy balls" could he come up with?
By the twelfth, he had made it down the stairs to the shop door. He wrenched it open, squinting at the morning sun, his face barely missing the fist of the next knock.
Two figures shifted to eclipse the light of day. Peter blinked away the fog of his hangover as he stared up at the faces of Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange.
"Where's the cup, Pettigrew?"
A/N: *War is Sweet to the Inexperienced
Цветочек – Flower
Медведь – Bear
Cука – Bitch
Лев - Lion