Albus Dumbledore sat deep in thought. The pads of his fingers drummed a pattern on his desk. He varied the pattern: index finger, ring finger, pinky, middle. He jiggled his right foot, and then his left, for variety.

The horcrux sat on a table several feet away, wrapped in charmed green silk. Even this shattered and helpless fraction of Riddle had a malevolent will and Albus was reluctant to touch it or even look at it overlong. He wove his hands together, went entirely still, and finally made his decision. He stood to pick it up, careful not to let the metal touch his skin, and began to unweave the spells that held it together.

/

Regulus had enough experience with dreamless sleep potions to know their worst drawback: a brief, cruel moment upon waking in which he could believe that the previous night's events were the dreams he hadn't had. This morning, that moment was cruel indeed, but brief. The deep purple of the bed hangings and some subtle quality of the light filtering between them told him that he was at Hogwarts, told him that his situation was all too real. Yet somehow, as he put his feet to the cold stone he couldn't help feeling a strange relief. He was free. As he dressed, he reflected on just how hard he must have hit bottom to feel relief at going into hiding, separated from everyone and everything from his life so far. Still, he supposed his feelings made some sense. He had done his part and had seen the worst he was likely to see. With the Dark Lord truly mortal, Dumbledore or someone else would kill him one day soon. When that happened, Regulus could start over. For now, he would wait, and rest.

The same house-elf from the night before brought him breakfast. Regulus was finishing his toast when Dumbledore arrived in his usual splendor. Regulus stood respectfully in greeting.

"Good morning, Regulus."

"Good morning," Regulus paused for a moment, unsure how to address him. "Headmaster."

"Sit, please," the professor said as he did the same in a chair across from him. Dumbledore regarded Regulus with his piercing blue gaze for a moment before he spoke. "We need to discuss your immediate future."

Regulus nodded. "Of course."

"Though it is your decision, my advice will be to fake your death."

Regulus let out an uneasy breath. "How?"

"I can make arrangements that will make it appear you were killed for deserting."

"Close enough to the truth."

"Indeed. And, although I say it is your decision, there is little other choice, both for your sake, and for the Order's. You know, of course, that no one has successfully left the Dark Lord's service."

Regulus did know. "So I'll appear to die. What will I actually do?"

"There, I believe you have two options. You may go into hiding somewhere in Britain under a number of spells, essentially putting yourself under house arrest. Or… you may flee the country, go somewhere untouched by this conflict. You could assume an alternate identity and live fairly normally."

"When you put it like that…."

"Yes, I have pushed you into a decision, haven't I?" The headmaster pressed the tips of his fingers together and gave an expression of feigned innocence.

"Where?"

"Hmm?"

"Where would I go?"

"Well, I may call in a favor and afford you lodging in the States, which has a few additional benefits."

"Additional benefits?"

Dumbledore smiled mysteriously, or perhaps that was the only way he ever smiled. "Voldemort's talents are many, and his magic runs deep, but even the most powerful wizard has difficulty directing magic across an ocean." He gestured toward Regulus' left arm. "You won't feel the mark burn, or if you do it will be only a twinge."

"You know about that?" Regulus asked, mystified. The Dark Mark was one of the Death Eater's greatest secrets. It had a number of enchantments on it, and disappeared after death. If the Order or the Ministry knew about it, this was the first Regulus had heard. And there was something else, something about Dumbledore's manner that confused him.

Dumbledore made no response to his question, but smiled serenely. "How does this sound so far?"

"Good enough, I suppose. Like you said, I have little other choice."

"Very well, then. We will need to make travel arrangements," Dumbledore began to stand.

"Hold on a moment. I'd like to think about this. And… I have a question. A few questions, actually."

Dumbledore eased back into his seat. "Perhaps I will have few answers."

"Will I be able to come back? When this is all over?"

"When this is over, I suspect you will."

"And when will that be?"

"That, I cannot say."

"No, that's not right," Regulus murmured.

"Excuse me?"

"That's not right. You're not as happy as you should be. You know where the Dark Lord's power comes from. You know how to undo him and you have what you need to do it. I've spent long enough as your enemy to know how you scheme. You should be formulating a plan to end it right now, but you're not, and I want to know why."

"Even if Voldemort were mortal, he rarely enters the battlefield himself," Dumbledore said evenly. "And even if someone were to face him wand to wand, he is a formidable opponent."

Regulus shook his head. "I don't deny that, the Dark Lord is the greatest duelist I've ever seen, but you took down Grindelwald! And with the rest of the Order behind you—"

"Understand, Mr. Black," Dumbledore interrupted, "that you have thrown yourself on my mercy, and any information I give you is only out of courtesy. Be that as it may… you are under the impression that you have made a masterstroke that will end the war. As much as I wish that were so, and though I thank you for what you did, that is not true.

"Since this conflict has arisen I have made it my business to explore the past of the wizard now known as Lord Voldemort, hoping to find any clue whatsoever as to how he might be undone. Amongst the wealth of data I gathered regarding him, I found that he collected a number of highly valuable objects, including the locket which you uncovered. What he intended for them all, I did not know, not until last night."

Regulus' heart had sunk to somewhere in the vicinity of the Slytherin common room. "How many?"

"At least four."

In the process of figuring out what exactly the locket was, and what exactly the Dark Lord was hiding, Regulus had run across the procedure for creating a horcrux. The thought of making even one sickened him, and to go through that four times suggested madness far beyond what Regulus expected, even after his years as a Death Eater.

"Does that include the locket?" Regulus asked.

"Yes, although there may well be others."

"Do you know where any of the rest of them are?"

"I do not."

Regulus fought down the urge to swear, leaned back, and ran a hand through his hair. "Is there anything else I can do?"

Dumbledore looked at him with his piercing blue eyes. "There may come a time when you are called on to fight, but for now, stay alive." He stood. "I leave you to decide your course of action, though if we are to feign your death, it would be best if we act soon."

Regulus sighed. "Do what you need to do. I have no other choice about that much. I just need to decide where to go."

/

Sirius slapped the paper onto the table. The Dark Mark writhed in black and white next to a portrait of Edgar Bones and his dread had turned to horror and then firmly to anger. He threw the Prophet into the fire and threw a fistful of floo powder in after it.

"James!" he yelled into the Potters' living room. "You up, mate?"

He could see only his friend's bare feet approaching before he knelt in front of the fireplace to answer the call.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm up, I'm up. No need to shout. You gave Harry a start."

Sirius could see that he was already dressed, except for the feet. That was strange for James this early on a Saturday morning, even these days, and his expression was dark behind the reflected fire flickering in his glasses. Both young men were silent for a moment.

"I guess you heard about the Bones?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah, Dumbledore gave us a call about an hour ago."

"No one gave me a call."

"Well, I guess we were higher priority, what with Lily..." James trailed off.

"Oh, damn, I forgot about that." Lily was apprenticed under Edgar Bones at Saint Mungo's, and he had been her mentor in more than just the art of healing. "Is she okay?" Sirius asked softly.

"Hard to say, but not great." James looked over his shoulder. "She's making some sort of casserole thing, to take to the family."

"To who? I thought they were all dead."

"Edgar had a couple of siblings. Allen, he was a couple of years older than us, Ravenclaw. And you remember Madame Amelia, don't you?"

"Oh yeah," Sirius said slowly. "Didn't make the connection. I remember, though I could wish I didn't."

"That's her. You have to admit she's been very helpful to our cause lately."

"True," Sirius admitted. "But she'll never love me."

"Well, no one loves you," James said with a smile. "So are you coming through or what?"

"In a minute, if you don't mind."

"You know you're always welcome here."

"I know. Someone needs to make sure Pete knows about the Bones first, though."

"What about Remus?"

"I haven't seen him in a couple of weeks, and he… discouraged me from contacting him."

Officially, Remus shared a flat with Sirius, but was away from it more often than he wasn't. Moony was always mysterious about where he had been and what he had been up to, but Sirius and James both had a pretty good idea.

"I hope he's alright," James said quietly.

"He'd better be. Listen, do you mind if I tag along with you guys to visit the Bones?"

"I don't mind, but it's going to be just Lily and Harry. I've got to go to a brunch."

"Ah. Hobnobbing doesn't stop for death, does it?"

"No," James said. "It doesn't."

"My sympathies. I'll ride over there as soon as I talk to Peter. See you."

"Why ride when your head's already in the fire?" James asked, but Sirius was already gone.

/

By all rights, thought Peter Pettigrew. I should feel worse. He sat on the bottom step, staring at the front door, or more specifically at the floor in front of the front door, at the paper that still lay where it landed when the owl dropped it through the mail slot. The way it was folded, he could only see part of the headline: "DARK MARK OV-" and "Four found dead in-" The snake of the Dark Mark writhed in and out of view. The clock ticked. The morning was overcast and his curtains were drawn, washing everything to charcoal gray. I should really light a lamp, he thought. He didn't move.

It was a fair exchange. They gave him something he wanted. He gave something in return. He did not feel guilty, he told himself, but neither did he move to pick up the Prophet. Or light that lamp. Or shut up that damned clock.

"Peter?"

He jerked to standing.

"Oy, Peter!"

Firecall, Sirius, he thought hesitated for a moment before croaking "Coming!" and running to the grate.

"What's going on?" he asked as he knelt.

"Bad news," said Sirius' head. "Edgar Bones and his family were killed last night."

"Yeah, I read it in the Prophet," he lied.

All was quiet, except for the clock. Peter sweated.

"Edgar..." Peter said, just to break the silence. "He was a good guy."

"Yeah," said Sirius, turning his gaze downward. "We'll get the bastards that did it."

Peter laughed, hoping it sounded grim and not at all ironic. "I'm sure we will."

"Look... Me and Lily and James are going to visit Allen and Amelia Bones, Edgar's brother and sister. You're welcome to come, if you want."

"Yeah, that would be..." Torment. "That would be..." Penance. "I'll do that."

/

Amelia Bones was a stout but formidable-looking woman of middle years, and at the moment her businesslike haircut looked a little frayed.

"Madam Bones?" Lily started. "We just came to say that we're really sorry about your brother and sister-in-law, and their little ones."

"Yeah," said Sirius. "Edgar will really be missed."

"It's... really tragic," said Peter.

"Thank you, dears. It's been something of a shock." She looked around at the odd collection of young people on her doorstep, a young woman carrying two baskets, one with a baby in it, and two young men. "I would invite you in, but I'm not entirely sure who you are."

"Oh!" exclaimed Lily. "I'm so sorry. I'm Lily Potter. I am—was —Healer Bones' apprentice."

"Ah," Madam Bones cracked a small smile. "So you're Lily. Edgar spoke very highly of you."

"Sirius Black." Sirius pulled his hand from his pocket for Madam Bones to shake. "You, ah, may remember me. Unfortunately." When he was a teenager, he and Madam Bones had had a slight legal run-in involving goblins and billywig stings. She quirked her lips in response, but said nothing. He hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to reveal his involvement with the Order and his exact connection to Bones. He dived in. "Edgar once put me back together on a billiard table when my back was split open to my spine."

"And I'm Peter Pettigrew. I, uh, Edgar has really helped me out, and I've worked with your brother, Allen."

"You're all Order, aren't you?" Madam Bones said, looking them over shrewdly.

"Yes," Lily said, after the slightest hesitation. Then: "I've brought a little food for you, if you'd like? And for Allen, too, and if there's anything else we can do for you, please, let us know."

"I thank you, and..." Madam Bones seemed to undergo a brief mental struggle before holding open her door. "Come in. Allen's here as well. I'm sure you two can talk babies. It's always good to know that life continues."

/

"How is your wife, Mr. Potter? And your young son? I trust they are well?"

Though Abraxas Malfoy's words were polite, his tone held the shadow of a threat, and James was struck, as he often was, with the urge to punch the old man in the nose. Superficially, Abraxas Malfoy bore some resemblance to Albus Dumbledore, both being formidable old wizards with silvery hair and beards. Yet where Dumbledore stood tall and unflappable, Abraxas bent over a cane, a sneer forever etched into his wrinkled face. The snake-headed cane, along with Abraxas' emerald green robes, marked exactly where he stood on all the issues that mattered.

Strange, how a decision made by a talking hat when we're eleven years old marks us. But then, there's no doubt where I stand there, either. James' robes were black, but with crimson cuffs and gold trim.

"Lily and Harry are quite well, thank you," he said with cold formality. "Lily would be with me, but I thought it more important for someone to comfort Edgar Bones' family."

"Yes, of course, exceedingly tragic. Healer Bones was an upstanding member of our community."

James noted the emphasis on the past tense without comment. Had Abraxas' son been among the wizards who killed him? It seemed likely. Suddenly, James didn't think he could remain polite much longer. "Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy," he said. "But I'd like to have a word with..." he gestured vaguely toward a knot of wizards and witches gathered near the string quartet, and hoped there was actually one among their number he would like to have a word with.

"Potter!" called a gruff voice. James turned to see that it belonged to Alastor Moody, who was glaring at the punch bowl with beady eyes.

"Auror Moody," James said respectfully as he sidled up next to the man.

"You know Crouch is bringing up Magical Law Enforcement Decree number 103 next week?"

"The one allowing Aurors to use Unforgivables?" James asked shrewdly.

"The same. How can I count on you to vote?"

James took a deep breath before answering. "Well, I was going to see if I could talk it down to just allowing the killing curse, and not the-"

"No!" Moody barked, startling James, and making a witch a few feet away from them jump. "No, that's not good enough," he growled, waving a gnarled finger at James. "I'll grant you, Aurors have got no place using the Cruciatus or the Imperius. We've got no right, and no reason. But Avada Kedavra should be out too."

"Why?" James wondered. "The Death Eaters are using deadly force against you. I thought you'd be pleased. Plus, I'm sure old Abraxas will vote against it." James tilted his head toward the bent old wizard, who was now chatting with a wizard with graying mutton chops.

Moody shook his head, making his grizzled gray hair swirl about his neck. "Don't think that I would mind putting another bee in the old bastard's bonnet, but is it any harder to stun a man with a wand than to kill him with it?" He paused for a moment, looking into James' face.

"No," James admitted.

"No," Moody agreed. "In fact, it's far easier, doesn't take the same amount of power."

"When you put it that way..." James said slowly.

"Crouch just doesn't want to try them," Moody said with a grim smile.

There was a time, not long ago, when that statement would have shocked James. Now he simply raised his eyebrows. "Do you really think so?"

"That I do. And I'll tell you, I can't entirely blame him. Half of the ones we bring in get let right back out. If there are witnesses, they claim Polyjuice. If they were caught in the act, they claim Imperius. If that doesn't work, they name names, and let their friends go to Azkaban in their place." Moody took a convulsive swig from his flask. "But if they're dead, they can't get off. Sounds good, doesn't it?"

"Yes and no."

"Exactly. You let Aurors play executioner, maybe you end the war. But you let that beast out of its cage, and it'll be difficult getting it back in. We win, and maybe this decree gets repealed. But then, maybe it doesn't. Maybe some with pro-pureblood sentiments get cursed down, even if they've got no acts of violence to their name. We lose..." Moody spread his hands and twisted his ruined mouth into a grin. "Well, you can imagine how this decree would make it all the more difficult for the survivors."

"I see your point," James said grimly.

"So I can count on you to vote no?"

"I guess I would be going against my duty if I didn't."

"Good man!" Moody said as he clapped a hand to his back. "It's a shame we couldn't have you in the Aurors, Potter. But then, good men are in even shorter supply here." The old auror glanced pointedly about the parlor as he swung his cloak over his shoulders. "Lastly: meeting tonight. See that that gets in the right ears." With that, he stalked toward the exit. Had Moody come only to speak to him? It was quite possible. Though he held a seat on the Wizengamot, Moody was more than content to leave this sort of work to someone else most of the time. Moody's seat was permanent as long as he was head of Aurors, which meant he could afford that luxury. James couldn't. Though he had inherited his own seat from his father, he would have to fight to keep it when its term ran up.

James looked across the elegant parlor at the witches and the wizards of the ministry, their families and their friends, laughing and talking and smiling their fake smiles while the war waged all around them. He sighed and steeled himself to speak to those who might be turned to Moody's way of thinking.

/

Peter turned a corner off of Diagon Alley and stepped onto Dress Circle. The wide cobblestone loop was far less crowded than it would have been even a few months ago. The grandiose Castle Theater sat empty and boarded up, and the Peerless looked all but abandoned, with only a few shabby wizards loitering near its doors. Yet the panic of the war hadn't seemed to touch the Hesperus. Peter pressed through the sea of perfume and gauzy fabrics that flowed out its doors. In his own dress robes, he was practically invisible, just another theatergoer, though he walked against the crowd. He passed a pair of witches sniffling into handkerchiefs and Peter's ears quirked at the mention of the young man he was here to see.

"I thought Crouch was just good-looking, but…"

"Yeah, me too, but the look on his face when just killed her…"

"You had the omnioculars, I couldn't see…"

Peter looped around the theater to the narrow alley that held the stage door. He leaned against a brick wall, trying to look casual, or at least make himself look like a fan nervous about meeting a favorite actor instead of a Death Eater nervous about being seen with his contact. It was strangely quiet here, after the bustle in the street. No one seeking autographs this time. He let himself relax for moment and jerked when the stage door crashed open.

"Peter!" Barty Crouch, Jr. said with a fondness Peter suspected was exaggerated. "Did you finally see it?"

"What?"

"The play, idiot."

"Oh. No."

"But you're dressed for the theatre and everything! You'll be the last, I suppose. Even the Dark Lord was in attendance last week, did you know?"

"No, I didn't," Peter said cautiously.

Crouch nodded, a somewhat dreamy look coming over his face. "He came in a hood, sat in Box 4 by himself. No one knew it was him but me. He called me an inspiration, afterwards. Can you imagine?"

Peter could only gape at him. All he knew about The Good of All was that it involved a Grindelwald follower going mad from a curse and killing his wife. Either he was misinformed about the plot or the Dark Lord was missing the point."It is difficult to imagine."

"Difficult to imagine because it's the Dark Lord or because I'm not that good?"

"Er, I…"

"Because I am that fucking good, Pettigrew."

Crouch stared down at Peter, who didn't dare twitch. The young actor was notoriously mercurial, which was why Peter preferred to meet him after his performances. The adoration of his audience seemed to put him in a good mood. That hadn't always kept him from turning on Peter, however.

After a tense moment, Crouch smiled and grabbed Peter by the shoulder to shake him gently. "You are far too twitchy. I'm just having you on! Anyway, to business," Crouch said, letting Peter go and turning suddenly serious. "What do you have for me?"

"Not much. Amelia Bones is considering joining the Order."

"That's it?" Crouch said with some irritation. "Some old biddy is considering joining the Order?"

"I just gave you Edgar Bones. I can't give you an Order member every night."

"Hmmph."

"Do you have any news for me?" Peter asked after a moment.

"Black is dead," Crouch said casually. "It'll be in the papers tomorrow."

Peter could feel the blood draining from his face. He'd only seen Sirius a few hours ago. "What? How?"

"Deserted. Spent all bloody morning trying to tail him. It was Snape that got to him, though."

Peter breathed again. Deserted. Regulus, he meant Regulus. Peter watched Crouch closely. If Crouch found his reaction strange, he didn't say so. "Did he… what did he do?"

"Jumped out of the Bones' fucking window is what he did. Bugged out when Mulciber told him to kill one of the kids. Never came back. Mad, eh?"

"Mad," Peter said weakly. So he'd killed Regulus Black, too. That made five.

A/N: Barty Crouch, Jr. is an awesome character, but we know little enough about him that I'm free to make up a lot of things. Also, I'm going to try to maybe update this in less than a year this time.

Reviews give me insane cackling glee, and nothing is more authorly than insane cackling glee.