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: Took me a bit longer than expected to get this one out, apologies! Enjoy! Read and review - I love hearing from you all!
Chapter 66: Aut Solum Cadent…
November 1978
From: Potter Manor
To: Petunia Dursley, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey
Dear Petunia,
I went to see mum the other day. She mentioned you and Vernon moved into a new house and gave me the address. Hope you don't mind.
I'm just writing to ask if you were free for lunch or dinner anytime soon. Maybe just tea? Whenever works for you. I can adjust my schedule to make time. I'm working at a hospital now. Did mum tell you? It's hard work, but it's fulfilling.
I miss you, Tuny.
We don't have a phone right now so I can't call, but please write back. The owl will wait if you ask it, or you could pass a note through mum. I'd really love to hear from you.
Love,
Lily
The Shelter
As Remus apparated to the front gate at the edge of the property, he prayed to every god he could think of that no one else was home. The small pouch of galleons weighed empty in his pocket. A severance, his boss had called it. The best he could do. An insult is more like it. Remus had been doing the man's books for weeks now. He knew how much could have been spared. A part of him had wanted to throw the coins back, to leave with his head held high and his dignity intact. But the part of him that won out was the part that scrambled for the coins and fell to his knees searching the dirty floor when a knut rolled under his chair. Dignity indeed.
So now he returned, tail between his legs. The path tread out before him like a walk to the gallows. Please, please, don't let them be home. Grant me that much at least. The silence was deafening.
He moved as slowly as he could without tripping over his own feet, but all too soon he made it to the front door. He took a breath, sniffing in deep. No sign of Hermione or Sirius so far. His nose stung. He clenched his eyes shut. Fuck. He may be cursed and poor and hiding from his friends, but he'd be damned before he cried over losing this shit job.
Remus opened the door to dark and quiet, but he still felt crowded. He walked into the house that Sirius bought, walked past the kitchen table Sirius bought, pulled out a beer Sirius bought and made his way upstairs to his room to collapse on the bed that Sirius bought. Fuck. Remus threw the sad sack of coins at the wall, grimacing when he heard them scatter across the floor. He'd have to pick them up later. That was fine. Crawling around for galleons should feel natural to him by now.
His eyes stung. He could feel the growing presence of unshed tears. He clenched his eyes shut, and when he opened them again, his eyelashes were wet. Fuck. He just stared up at the ceiling, pulling back into the depths of his mind. Hiding.
Time passed. How much, he didn't know, but by the time he noticed Hermione and Sirius' voices drifting up through the house, all he could hear was the chant Moony growled at him in his head.
Provide.
Provide.
Provide.
Provide.
Fuck. He was crying now.
Auror Offices, Department of Magical Law Enforcement
The Ministry of Magic
Sirius stared blankly ahead and watched the clock on the wall toll each second as it scraped by. Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. To—
Fuuuuuck, this was so boring.
Sirius looked at the paperwork in front of him. Incident report. He groaned and set his quill down. Was this it? Was this really what he'd been looking forward to all these years? Fucking sitting at a desk all day doing someone else's paperwork? He thought the life of an Auror would be exciting, chasing down bad guys, saving people. Granted, it's not like he thought that was all there was to it. But there was a war going on out there for Merlin's sake. He shouldn't be here just sitting on his ass. He should be-should be—fuck, doing something? Right?
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. To—
And James wasn't even here.
Sirius swiveled his head around to look for his brother even knowing he wouldn't be found. James had been called up to shadow an older Auror today. Lucky bastard.
Fuck, he better be safe.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. To—
He didn't want to be here. He just wanted to get home to Remus and Hermione, just wanted to talk with them and relax without the looming threat of unfinished incident reports stalking the back of his mind. Fuck, the incident report. Sirius picked up his quill.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. To—
Sirius threw down the quill and with another quick glance around the room, grabbed his bag and coat and bolted for the elevator.
Fuck the incident report.
December 1978
Break Room 2B
St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Lily sunk to the floor, leaning against the door she'd slammed closed behind her. Breathe, damn it. Just breathe. It was all so stifling.
They said it would get easier. That's what they told her. That she'd harden herself to these cases, the ones she knew were hopeless before even lifting her wand. And maybe she would, maybe one day her voice wouldn't break when she called out the time of death. But that day wasn't today.
God, it all just felt so useless sometimes. She felt useless. Lily walked beside amazing healers all day long, and she felt like a fraud most days. A competent fraud on good ones. She took a deep breath in, an even deeper breath out. Lily shook her head and twisted the ring on her finger. The protective charm she wore over it made it feel like a ghost. Even touching it felt distant. The charm was necessary, of course, as she couldn't practice without it, but she hated it. She wanted her ring to scratch at her skin and catch on her sweaters. She wanted to fumble with it as she still got used to wearing the damn thing. It was special and important and real. It meant she wasn't alone, that someone was waiting for her to come home.
Lily hung her head in her hands and wondered, not for the first time and not for the last, if she was strong enough for this.
Get up, Lil. Come on. You can do this.
I can do this.
Slowly, she got to her feet, belatedly realizing the break room was actually empty. Small miracles indeed. Her head felt stuffy and her heart ached, but she was standing. She took a deep breath in, an even deeper breath out. She could do this. She could handle it. She was strong and supported and alive. She was here.
But some things still had to be done.
Lily made her way over to her bag, taking more time than necessary to dig through the contents. She could lose her wand for hours to the pits of this bag, but somehow an unassuming little blue book would always be right on top. She pulled it out, the tears immediately returning. She'd never spoken a word about this book. Never told a soul. James had bought it for her on her first day of work, and she'd carried it ever since. Your heart is so big, Lil, he'd said. I'm always here to listen, you know that. But this is for when I'm not right there, or for when you don't want me to hear just yet.
They'd promised each other no secrets. That's what they'd promised as they held each other that first night after the wedding. They both knew it was unnecessary, but it felt like the sort of thing a husband and wife would agree on. Then, the book. For when you don't want me to hear just yet. It was a work-around. Just for her. Because he worried. Because James Potter had seen enough death to know it leaves a mark. Because James Potter knew that she'd already spent more time in a hospital than a young person should.
He'd meant for it to be a place for her to vent, she knew that, but she couldn't bring herself to write about her feelings. It was selfish, unearned. There were real people suffering here, and she was—what? Tired because she'd been on her feet all day? Lily scrubbed at her eyes.
Get it together. You're stronger than this. Come on. Much more to do.
She opened the book to the first clean page, farther along than she'd expected she'd be by now when she first started this. She pulled a self-inking quill from her pocket and wrote the necessary lines before tucking the book away again. She took a deep breath in, an even deeper breath out.
I can do this. I am strong. I am supported. I am alive.
She opened the door and stepped back out into the fray.
Once more unto the breach...
Ennis Wooten
10 Dec. 1978
He had a crooked smile. He played the guitar. He said he could make the best cup of tea in the world. His mum held his hand. He told a bad joke about a hippogriff walking into a pub.
He said he wasn't afraid.
Tomes & Scrolls
Hermione shoved another book away, feeling more than a little discouraged. She shouldn't have been surprised. Thwarting death wasn't supposed to be easy. Wasn't that what the children's book had said? Sure, she'd done it once before, but maybe that was it. She'd already used up her shot at saving a life.
No, she couldn't think like that. She was going to save Regulus. She would find a way. No matter what.
The problem was the variables. The locket, the letter, the tapestry.
Regulus needed to retrieve the locket, to replace it. This was paramount. Would it be better if the real horcrux remained where it was? Maybe. But that wasn't how time worked. No, Regulus needed the locket. Too much stemmed from that point. It was the reason they had planned to infiltrate the Ministry, the reason they'd stayed at Grimmauld Place. But could she go for Regulus? Sign his name?
Hermione dropped her head onto the table. She didn't even know where the cave was. And even Regulus didn't know yet. She would have to wait for Kreacher, which meant he may have a further role to play. Maybe she could convince Kreacher to take her instead. But no, he'd told them the story of the cave with no mention of a curly-haired witch. He'd been adamant that Regulus had risked his life and lost it.
Hermione glared at the text on inferi she'd pulled from the shelves. It was entirely unhelpful and borderline fictional, but the point it drove home was how utterly dangerous inferi were. They could be repelled by a handful of things, frightened by even fewer, but if they got their hands on you... Hermione shivered. She couldn't stop her mind from picturing Regulus facing these things.
No, she couldn't think like that. She was going to save Regulus. She would find a way. No matter what.
Next, next, what was next? The letter. Essentially out of her hands until she figured out how to handle the locket. She could forge it. She'd memorized the contents from the first time Harry had shown them. And she could learn to mimic Regulus' handwriting. She certainly had enough letters to piece together his particular style. Yes, the letter could be handled if need be.
But it's Regulus, her mind whispered sadly. You can plan all you want, but you know it will be him in that cave when it comes to it. He'll be the one to write the letter. He'll be the one to find the locket. And he'll be the one to die.
No, she couldn't think like that. She was going to save Regulus. She would find a way. No matter what.
But the tapestry. Familial blood magic, if the books could be trusted. Rarely anything stronger. Hermione had researched it first, the biggest hurdle. Tricking time to save a life was hard enough, but how do you trick magic itself?
She'd seen the Black family tree tapestry with her own two eyes. She knew the burned faces of the disowned, the faded ones of those who married in, not quite wholly there. And she knew the haunting skulls that marked those who had left this world behind. She had watched many times as Harry had traced the skull that had appeared above Sirius'name, the deathly omen just barely visible beneath the charred spot. And she knew—as much as she wanted to convince herself otherwise—that Regulus' name too had carried a skull.
No, she couldn't think like that. She was going to save Regulus. She would find a way. No matter what.
But he has to die.
No, she couldn't think like that. She was going to save him.
But how could a person be both dead and alive?
There had to be a way.
Ancient & Antiquated
The store was never quiet, something Peter liked about the place. There was always something making noise. An old clock. A customer. A chattering knick-knack. His own faint singing, on occasion. There was never a moment of quiet, and he liked it that way. It kept out all the other noise in his head. The fear. The doubt. The insecurities he thought he would've outgrown. And now, the nightmares.
Peter hadn't had a nightmare since the infamous Cat Dream of '75. After waking to his own screams over McGonagall ripping apart his newly minted animagus form, he'd spent weeks meditating, clearing his mind and all that. It had earned him a fair bit of teasing from his friends, but it had been worth it. Through basically sheer power of will, Peter refused to allow his mind to betray him in sleep again. And it had worked, for a while at least.
Lily attributed the nightmares to stress, to change. Peter, she'd said, there's a war going on. It's going to affect us all in some way or another. She'd given him a few vials of Dreamless Sleep, just enough for a few nights, and it had worked. For a while at least.
He was always alone. That's what he remembered most vividly when he'd wake gasping for air. He would wake screaming, or crying. Sometimes his throat would be tight, pulled against itself as if he'd been silenced. He'd wake up sweating, shivering, curled in a ball, or sprawled out on the floor. He'd open his eyes to the darkness of his bedroom, shadows gathered across the walls to watch him pull himself together. It always felt different. Different enough that he could have assumed the dreams weren't connected, if not for the feeling of absolute solitude that lingered behind. On his skin, on his teeth, in his eyes.
Tonight was another nightmare night. Peter had woken to his own cries. For a moment, he'd thought he was reliving Pup's worst moon. But it wasn't a wounded wolf crying for help. It was him.
He swiped at the tears left on his cheeks, swiping and swiping, but his face stayed damp. Staring up at the black void of his ceiling in the darkness, Peter felt empty. Scared. Alone. There was a part of him that was desperately calling to go home. But he was home. Here in this bed, above a shop he'd known his whole life. Surely this was his home. Right?
He thought of his parents, his mum and dad. He should visit, at least to see mum. But would that be enough to satisfy this alien longing?
He thought of Hogwarts, his home since he'd been eleven. He missed those halls, the towers, the grounds. Except that wasn't what made it feel like home, was it? James, Sirius. Remus. Hermione. That's what made Hogwarts feel like home.
Peter's bedroom was too quiet. It was something he hated about the place. There was never anything making noise. No snoring roommates. No whispered plans of future pranks. No scribbling of quills for a forgotten essay. No laughter. There was an endless drone of quiet, and he hated it. It forced him to address all the noise in his head. The fear. The doubt. The insecurities he thought he would've outgrown. And now, the nightmares.
If he'd still been at Hogwarts, he could have found comfort in his friends. There was always someone up for a trip to the kitchens. But now it was just him. Alone.
Peter pushed himself up and out of bed, his eyes finally adjusted to the dark. He wandered into the kitchen, turning on lights as he went. No roommates meant there was no one to bother.
He thought of James and Lily, shacked up together. They were the goal the rest of them were waiting to reach, even if they'd never admit it aloud to each other. And Remus and Sirius and Hermione? They had each other. But Peter had to admit, it was hard to avoid the jealousy at the end of the nights when the three of them went home together. They were growing up. He knew that. It was childish to think things wouldn't change after Hogwarts. But Merlin, was this what being an adult was? Peter wasn't sure he liked it.
The warmth of the tea he'd absent-mindedly made was starting to soften his bones. He hadn't realized just how cold this nightmare had left him. He stared deep into the cup until he finished it all, keeping his mind from succumbing to the tempting depression of his dreams.
Why was he struggling so much? None of his friends were. They were strong and tough. He doubted any of them had to worry about nightmares. Peter sighed. His tea was finished. He checked the time. It was too early to even call it morning, but there was no helping it. There would be no more sleep tonight.
Peter stood, making a mental note to check in with the pack for this Sunday's dinner. It had been a few weeks since they'd all been able to make it. He'd offer to host, try to fill this place with something other than the whispering thoughts in his head. He wanted to see his friends, but for now he'd try to fill his time with work.
Maybe he'd look at that chalice again.
January 1979
Potter Manor
A bath, that's what Lily needed. A bath was going to solve all her problems. The warmth, the scents, the feeling of floating. Her feet hurt, her bones were weary, but a bath would help it all.
The house was empty, as usual, much too big for the two of them. A house like this needed to be filled to be a home. Lily loved this house, she really did. It's where she fell in love with James, where she married him. It was special to him and special to her. But it was so big.
And James wasn't here.
Their schedules were off again, never home at the same time. Home. Lily wandered through the house, not bothering with lights as she made her way up to the bedroom. Yes, a bath would help.
With the water running, Lilly took off her robes, taking care to tuck her shoes away. She pulled on a fluffy white robe and set about adding salts and oils to the bath.
Tap, tap, tap.
Not now, please, not now. Lily closed her eyes and sighed before glancing toward the window. A haggard looking tawny owl stared back at her before pecking again at the glass. She was tempted, oh so tempted, to ignore that blasted bird, to hide away and pretend she couldn't be found. But there was a war going on, and you didn't ignore owls.
The bird took off as soon as she released the parchment from its grasp. No reply necessary. What did that mean? A chill shot down Lily's spine.
And James wasn't here.
She had to go. Of course, she had to go. Lily looked at the bathtub in all its heavenly glory, the suds and soaps calling out to her. And she hesitated. No, no, she had to go. She had to do her part. This was why she joined the Order, to help.
She stopped the water, leaving the bathroom with one last long look before grabbing her robes and shoes again. She passed back through the house, in the darkness and shadows, retracing her steps like she was erasing them.
Pulling open the front door, she took a deep breath in, an even deeper breath out, and apparated to the front steps of #0107 Bellume Street.
From: Albus Dumbledore
To: Lily Potter, Potter Manor
Ms. Potter,
Please pardon the late hour, but I was hoping you would join us at Headquarters. We find ourselves in need of your particular skills.
The Order needs you.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Order of the Phoenix Headquarters
#0107 Bellume St.
A hand on the doorknob, Lily hesitated.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.
The house was pandemonium. The cheery, hopeful atmosphere of her first visit was long gone. The front hall was ghostly empty, but shouts and yells welled up from further back in the house. Lily felt like she was walking into the belly of the beast as she followed the noise.
Oh my god.
There was so much blood.
Four bodies had been laid out on small cots. Figured hurried around them; bottles of potions shoved down throats and then carelessly tossed to the side. There was so much blood.
Her time at Mungo's had softened the shocking blow of the sight of blood, dulled the pungent coppery scent. But this wasn't Mungo's. This was a house, full of everyday people with everyday healing supplies. This wasn't getting someone back to healthy, rehabilitating as much as necessary. This was pulling them back as far as required from death's door. This was sloppy and messy and rushed, using whatever was available to close a wound. This was triage.
Lily stood frozen, bile rising up her throat. What happened? She started as a hand fell upon her shoulder and turned to see the hard, focused eyes of Dumbledore.
A raid. An attack. An attempt to stop, to save. People were hurt. They needed help. They needed her help.
Dumbledore nodded and looked at the bodies. Lily opened her mouth to speak, tasting the salt of the tears unbiddenly fallen, but he was already sweeping away.
Lily turned to the bodies, her own moving forward with shaking hands. She took a deep breath in, an even deeper breath out, and got to work.
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
Potter Manor
The house was still empty. The house was still dark. The bath had gone cold hours ago. Lily peeled off her robes, dropping them to the floor before kicking off her shoes at the foot of the bed. A lazy wave of her wand managed to scourgify most of the blood from her clothes, but that was all Lily could do before falling into bed.
And James wasn't here.
The Morning Cup
There was something inherently lonely about the coffee shop, Hermione thought as she wiped down an abandoned table. There were people all around, always filtering in and out, and yet— That was it, wasn't it? And yet. It was a solitary anticipation. It was waiting for an unknown something. It was watching people live their lives from behind a counter. It made Hermione wonder why she stayed.
It wasn't like she needed to work, at least not right now. Sirius was happy enough to provide when she and Remus allowed him, and her own supply of galleons she'd brought back in her beaded bag was only slightly diminished. And she had plenty to do still, work to be done, a plan to perfect. Working at a coffee shop wasn't going to get her any closer to saving Regulus.
And yet.
It was heartbreakingly simple. This was the muggle world, her world. No matter how far she strayed, no matter how long she stayed away, this would always be her world. And standing in this coffee shop, watching people go about their lives, was simple. There was no war at the Morning Cup. There was no one to save, to stop, to find. The only thing people needed of her here was a handful of change and a cup of tea. The weight she carried was lighter here.
She told herself it was necessary. That the work, the money, the space were all good things. And it was true. But she was hiding, hiding herself in this time and busying herself to avoid the problems she didn't want to face. The hours passed quickly here and filled her days. As she watched the people all around, always filtering in and out, watched people live their lives from behind the counter, she could pretend she was living, too.
And yet.
The Shelter
Remus didn't make it to the house this time. Apparating home, he just sat at the front gate as rain started to fall, laughing darkly to himself. Fired again. He'd balked before, but what he wouldn't give right now for a pocketful of coins to show for something, anything that made this all worth it. Fuck. He hadn't seen it coming. It surprised him every time, and he hated himself for that.
The rain was dripping down his face now. He pulled out his wand, but hesitated before putting it away once more.
He'd been shocked honestly when Hermione announced she got a job at a muggle coffee shop. Remus loved muggles, he really did. They had better music. They had movies. They did amazing things. But to work in the muggle world? It was the first time Remus had been disappointed in Hermione. She was brilliant, amazing. She could do anything. But now, to not even try? To give up on magic?
He hadn't understood at that moment, but sitting in the rain now, Remus understood.
Hermione hadn't given up on magic. She wasn't letting it give up on her. Not like it had over and over again with Remus.
He was a wizard, wasn't he? Wasn't he? More man than monster? Hermione saw it. His friends saw it. He saw it. Sometimes. So why did the wizarding world keep kicking him aside? Why wouldn't the world just let him stay? Why did he always have to fight? Fuck. Why?
Remus loved magic with all his soul. It had brought terror and trouble into his life, but it had also brought life and beauty and friendship. It was something worth fighting for. Merlin, it was worth it. But he was tired. Remus was tired.
But maybe he could rest in the muggle world. Maybe he could regrow his thick skin, salvage his dignity. Catch his breath, and regain his strength. Because he was tired of having to prove he was a wizard, more man than monster. Because he was tired of always fighting. Because he was terrified he'd one day lose the fight, and the monster would win.
The rain seeped under his clothes, chilling his bones. This coat had never been warm enough. Remus got to his feet, his body creaking with the movement. He looked at the house, a lost soul seeking shelter. No lights were on. He closed his eyes and started to walk. Please, please, let someone be home. Grant me that much at least.
He wanted to remember who he was, who he was with his friends. He didn't want to be alone.
Knockturn Alley
James Potter was on a surveillance mission. Surveillance only, Frank had said, restraint is key. But even so, James found himself gripping his wand in his pocket, holster completely forgotten. His left hand tightened around his auror badge. Was he nervous? Fuck, he didn't even know if he was nervous. The adrenaline paced through his body, just waiting. This was his first solo mission.
In a way, he kind of felt like he was back at Hogwarts, stealthing through the castle and trying to avoid getting caught. Except this wasn't Hogwarts and the consequences could be a lot worse than detention with Filch. He wasn't with the Marauders. He was alone in a dark alley, and he had to focus.
James Potter wasn't a kid anymore, no longer a child student of Hogwarts. He was an adult, a man with a family to care for, a man with a sworn duty to protect. He was an auror, damn it. He wasn't playing pretend. This was life or death stuff. He needed to be serious. And he was.
His face had hardened since his last days at Hogwarts. The last of his childhood had shed from his cheeks as his jaw sharpened and his brow grew more pronounced. He let his beard grow in just past the stubble phase in an attempt to get his superiors to forget just how recently he'd graduated from the training program. For the first time in his life, James Potter had to prove himself alone. Amongst the aurors, he was viewed on his own, no Marauders to back him up. And with jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, he was going to make this count. He was going to succeed. He was going to do good.
They could assign him to surveillance, assign him to paperwork; it didn't matter. He was going to succeed and exceed expectations. He was going to work hard and protect people, save people. He was going to do good.
And when his superiors in the Department Of Magical Law Enforcement saw that he was ready, Dumbledore would too.
James' grip relaxed on his wand and badge. He'd seen all he needed. Making his way back up through the streets, back toward the light of Diagon Alley, James was already working on the surveillance report in his head. He'd have it done in record time, no mistakes. Frank would be impressed. His superiors would be impressed. He was doing good. He would do good. And even if he didn't have his Marauders by his side, this would all be worth it.
A/N: *Either They Will Fall Alone...