That solstice would always be the one that James Potter would remember. When he would become old and grey, he knew that he would remember how Lily—his wife!—had danced around the kitchen to some silly muggle tune that rattled through the radio, bobbing her head and making the comical witch's hat flop this way and that. Down below under her feet, Tilly the long-eared Potter house-elf, did her best not to get trampled underfoot as the redhead refilled the sweets bowl they had been snacking from the entire night.

It was strange to think that only three years ago they had been seniors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, graduating with their peers and marrying right out of school (as was tradition) before they had been shoved into the schadenfreude of wizarding warfare. Now, thanks to some prophecy and the attack on the Longbottoms, they found themselves locked up in hiding whilst their friends went and fought, and died like soldiers. Suppressing the depressing sigh, James turned his thoughts back to the moment at hand: The summer solstice.

Logically, they knew better than to think that any visitors would knock on their door, but it was the thought that counted. And hey! Maybe one of their mates or even someone from the Order might swing by! Who's to say? That, and Elvendork (Lily's equally pregnant kneazle) had taken great delight in chasing after the wayward Chocolate Frogs as fast as her stubby little kitty legs could take her, most of that afternoon, so it wasn't all drab and dreary.

Scrunching up his nose at the rotten egg-flavoured Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Bean in his mouth, James happily watched as his four-month old son(!), Harry, jovially bounced up & down in an obnoxiously fluffy lion onesie that McGonagall had given them during an impromptu baby shower. Though he internally scowled at the infernal contraption that was the Jolly Jumper (Lily had insisted on buying that blasted thing and it had taken him far longer than he would ever care to admit, to put it up), he still happily watched the babe shriek and gabble with much enthusiasm as if he too, were dancing along with his mother who bounded about the kitchen.

No matter how many times he had insisted that Tilly, their house-elf, could do it, the muggleborn always rebutted that she could cook as well as any elf (Lies, but he wasn't about to tell her that. He knew what chaos she could wreck without a wand). The house-elf in question, had been one who had been a part of James' life for as long as he could remember; raising him since he was young and now she did the same for his own child, when given half the chance. Though, her irritated huffing at Lily's feet as she tried to shoo the witch out of her domain, would never cease to amuse him. She looked to be about two seconds away from magically removing her from the kitchen and taking over, herself.

On the breakfast counter next to him lay Elvendork, currently pawing at the multicoloured empty wrappers in an almost lackadaisical manner. He probably should clean up the littered wrappers, but there was something satisfying about the repetitive crunch, crunch, crunch as the wrappers succumbed to sharp claws. The flat-faced kneazle seemed to take great delight in the crinklier wrappers that crunched beneath her claws and had practically made a game of stretching as far as she could, whilst still remaining lain out like a bear skin run, belly on full display. It was perfect…well, as perfect as life could be in the middle of a war where tomorrow was never promised to anyone.

KNOCK~KNOCK! KNOCK~KNOCK! KNOCK~KNOCK!

In the end, the change to their lives didn't come with a boom or a bang like the ones in the stories; there was no flash of light nor a wisened old crone droning on about fate, destiny and prophecies. No, it came simply, with a knock on the door—admittedly, it was a harried one—but a knock, nonetheless. "Did you hear that?" Lily turned towards the door, a look of confusion that mirrored on his own paranoid one was the song on the radio fizzled out.

"It's probably just Bagshot" James replied, although the excused sounded flimsy at best. Their elderly neighbour was sweet enough, if a little odd—even by their standards—and very nosy. Again, furious knocking sounded at the door.

KNOCK~KNOCK! KNOCK~KNOCK! KNOCK~KNOCK!

Rising to his feet, James slipped his wand into his hand he moved, silent and wary, towards the front door. Behind him, Lily had pulled a giggling Harry from the Jolly Jumper and clutched tight to him, as Tilly planted herself firmly between her mistress and the unknown threat. Tensions rose steadily in the little cottage as the occupants prepared to both fight or flee, should the need arise. In front of James, the ivory panelling of their front door loomed like something from a nightmare. His mouth had gone dry and he found himself having trouble swallowing around the panic in his heart. Who would he find on the other side of the door? Did Bagshot need something? Had Peter forgotten the password again? Was it the Death Eaters? Then again, what kind of Death Eaters would knock first? Was this the end?

Sweaty palms gripped tight to eleven inches of mahogany as he spared a glance over his shoulder, telling himself that he was making sure his family was safe, not that he was terrified out of his wits. His backup came in the form of Elvendork who had gracefully (far too gracefully for one so large) leapt down from the counter and up into the front window, twining between the velvety curtains with ease and pressed her fuzzy face against the cool glass that overlooked the front garden.

Time seemed to blur together like fog, his throat clogged with panic as James pictured having to fight off Voldemort; his only thoughts to stay alive long enough for Lily (and their unborn child) to safety. For him to hang on long enough for his mates to arrive, for the Order of the Phoenix to blast their way through his backdoor—hell! He'd even take Alastor's scowl leering at him through the dark and the backhanded compliments he'd offer a job well done!

All was quiet as James reached for the doorknob; the coolness of the metallic seemingly hissing against his clammy flesh as he heave a deep breath and yanked open the door with far more force than was entirely necessary, wand at the ready.

A beat.

Two.

He had expecting Death Eaters, You-Know-Who or maybe even Death itself, but what James found instead made him pause. The girl was young, possibly half their age, and she had clearly seen better days. In fact, it was a wonder she was even standing at all, with the way she kept repeatedly blinking as if to clear her vision and her nails dug into the frame of the door. Hair tossed up into a haphazard ponytail that exploded outwards in a ball of limp frizz, muck splattered across the hem of her jeans (that were slightly ripped in the knees) & up the sides of her boots, an oversized cardigan slipped off of one shoulder belaying the rumpled two-toned t-shirt with a Gryffindor crest impressed over the right breast and a collection of equally dirty bandages wrapped one hand so tight he was surprised her fingers weren't turning red from loss of circulation.

This would have of been fine if the girl (supposedly an ally, going by that t-shirt; though he couldn't recall ever seeing her around the common room before) had not been sopping wet. Either from the sweat or the rain which had plastered the few loose curls of auburn hair that had managed to escape, gluing them to her face. There was also an alarming scent of blood on the air (a handy-dandy talent that he'd picked up from his animagus side, although a skill that was nowhere near Moony's calibre) that set him on edge. Plus something distinctly serpentine, but that could've just been the lingering scents of the garden lizards. All of this fluttered through his mind in an instant, the vestiges of his auror training taking everything in at a moment's notice.

The witch swayed dangerously in place, blinking several times as her eyes raised to meet his, seemingly startled at the sudden greeting. "U-um…" She mumbled, physically fighting to keep her eyes open. "Can—can I use your telephone?"

"What're you doing 'ere, kid?" James replied, shoulders tense as his gaze darted up & down the street behind her. Wandering over their bushes and down the dark street, as if he expected someone to jump out of the dark and ambush them. "You lost?"

"C-can…c-can I used your t-telephone?" She repeated, shivering as her hands came up to keep what little warmth she had, trapped inside crossed arms.

Behind him, he could hear Lily stepping further out in to the hallway, worried about what was taking so long and who the owner of the feminine voice he was talking to, was; for she was far too young to be Bagshot. Before he could reassure her, a small patter and thunk pulled his attention back to the child in front of him, both of their eyes going to the broken which lay splintered at their feet from where it had fallen from behind her ear. James gripped his own tighter in return, still paranoid that they were being set up. She was young—too young to have her own wand—James knew, so she must've nicked it from someone else—a family member, perhaps? Or a teacher? He didn't know many muggleborns or halfbloods that would be brazen enough to rob a wand store, anyhow.

The had witch bowed her head in mourning, curls falling in front of her face like a thick wet curtain. "It broke…" She grieved, staring down at the remains of her wand with such despair that James would've of thought someone had died.

The bespectacled wizard hurriedly ushered the girl in with a hand on her shoulder, his worried gaze suddenly far more interested in the dancing shadows across the street, that were only broken by the occasional flickering street lamp. "Get inside"

"James? What's going on?" He heard Lily ask as the teen shuffled inside, stumbling over her own feet as he silently swept his own wand over the broken pieces, sending them zooming inside to sit on the console table in the hallway before he followed.

Before he could reply, the witch spoke up again. "Can't feel ma brain…" She slurred, swaying in place. "Are you s'posed to feel your brain? 'S'all mushy…Mush, mush, mush…"

"Whoa!" Lily quickly handed Harry off to Tilly before she rushed forward to grab the girl before she passed out standing up. But it was all that she could do to let the girl topple out of her hands and tumble to the floor in a graceless heap. At least, the witch's head didn't crack open on the floor thanks to a quick intervention on Tilly's behalf.

Nevertheless, the small thump that sounded as she hit the floor, echoed throughout the hallway as she crumbled at their feet. James, who had paused to lock the door behind them (making sure that every lock & charm was back in place), suddenly jerked back around to find his wife and house-elf hovering over the prone witch. "Merlin!" James hissed as he rushed to the girl's other side, worry coursing through him. Paranoid he may have of been, heartless he was not.

Gently rolling the girl over, he found her face screwed up tight like she was in pain and one hand clutched tight to the bandaged hand; the same one that was clearly weeping blood (likely the iron tang of blood he'd smelt earlier) and soaking through the bandages. Tears escaped from closed lids and trekked their way down her, dripping down on their hardwood floors as it mixed with the splotches of blood that had already landed there.

"James—James? What's going on?" Lily reiterated as her concerned hands hovered over the girl were repeatedly brushed away by Tilly's more practised hands as they quickly performed a general diagnostic.

"She—she was asking to use the fellytone" James eventually spat out, heart aching in his chest at the thought that the Dark side was still taking children—muggleborns—like this one and doing who-knows—what to them. The last time he'd seen such a reaction like this was when Regulus Black had gotten his Dark Mark. The younger Black had tried—and failed—to hide his pain from his peers. But Lily's eyes were sharper than James' (not hard), and she'd easily seen through Regulus as easy as reading a book. Not to mention, even though Sirius like to bluster, he too, had clearly been worried about what his younger brother was up; though he'd never admit it.

"The telephone?" Lily easily translated as she finally relented to Tilly's ministrations. "Muggle then?"

"She had a wand—it's broken, though"

"Muggleborn? Halfblood?" At this, Lily appeared far less wary of the girl on the floor as she sat back on her haunches.

"And that's a Gryffindor shirt, I think" James nodded to the small crest imprinted on the two-toned t-shirt, "Don't remember seeing her 'round the common room, though"

"Yeah, well, you lot were pretty one-track minded" Lily huffed.

"What's that s'posed to mean?" James pouted.

Lily quirked an unimpressed brow at him. "Really? Do I need to spell it out for you?"

"We weren't that bad…" He grumbled to himself.

"James" Lily deadpanned, "It took you three years to figure out Remus was a werewolf, and you were living with him"

"Well, when you put it like that…" He pouted as Lily moved to check the stained bandages. "Lils, what're you doing?"

"We have to be sure" Lily replied as she gently pried the cradled wrist from the teen's grip. "Even if she is a muggleborn or otherwise, we don't know what they're doing to them"

"You don't think they're…turning their prisoners, do you?" James asked, incredulously.

"I don't know" Lily shook her head,"That's why we have to check"

"I don't like this" He mothered, shoulders rigid as he brushed away wet curls from the girl's face.

She carefully pushed up the underlaying sleeves to reveal the dirty bandages beneath. A few more minutes were spent unwrapping the sticky gauze from her wrist without hurting her, until finally they could see what was imprinted there. "We have to be sure"

James hoped that he was wrong, that there wasn't a Dark Mark hidden there or worse, that they had a baby Death Eater in their hallway. He wouldn't put it past them to start marking their prisoners to spread further fear into the wizarding community; they'd done a lot worse for far less, after all. But he wasn't prepared for what they found instead. "James—!" Lily's choked cry sounded strangled in his own ears, despite being sat right next to her.

"I—I know" James swallowed thickly, disbelieving eyes running over those eight jagged little letters imprinted on stained skin, hoping—wishing—for them to disappear. For there, written clear as day and carved into the girl's flesh was one simple word: MUDBLOOD.

"Well" Lily licked her lips as a tinge of hysteria entered her tone. "At least we know she's a muggleborn, right?"

It had been a couple of hours since her sudden arrival and the evening was only just starting to calm down. In turn, Harry had gone down easily, gnawing on the ear of his beloved dog plushie (it was about thrice his size and drowning in baby drool), much to the quiet relief of his parents. Tilly had busied herself with caring for the unconscious witch after they'd moved her to the spare room-turned-nursery and transfigured one of Petunia's garishly-gifted jewellery boxes into a bed. Bar from a few whimpered and pained mutterings, the girl had yet to properly awaken leaving the two Potters in the dark about most things, really. What had even happened to the muggleborn for her to end up that way? His mind ran wild with all of the possibilities.

"How'd she even get through the wards?" Lily asked, gripping tight to her half-empty mug as they stood in the doorway, watching over the children who lay inside.

"I dunno" James shook his head in reply, his gaze travelling over both the cot where his son lay beneath the snitch-infested mobile, to the single bed which sat nestled beneath the window and bore the unknown muggleborn.

She was dressed in one of Lily's old pyjama shirts, the oversized Cokeworth Chiefs t-shirt practically dwarfing her slight frame, even as she lay tucked tightly into the bed with the Puddlemere United duvet pulled up to her a chin. Tilly had slapped a damp flannel over the witch's forehead in an attempt to taper the fever which had already reared its ugly head. Who knows how long she'd been out in the rain? Coupled with wet clothes, that often led to sickness, and James didn't need to be a healer to know that.

Her wet clothes in question, were currently tumbling around in the dryer, humming in the laundry downstairs (some other muggle gadget that Lily had insisted on purchasing). And even those had raised more than a few brow-raising questions. For some reason, that t-shirt she had worn had POTTER imprinted across the shoulders, though neither of the newly-weds could recall ever owning such a garment, or even known someone within their family to own such a thing. It was well-loved & worn-through, so clearly not fake; but it also didn't seem like something that would fit today's fashions—muggle or magical. The Gryffindor crest on the breast made it look very offical, but again, neither could remember seeing her about the castle or even in the common room. Which was strange, considering she must've been at least three years their junior, meaning they would've of crossed paths at some point. But they couldn't recall such a time, so unless this girl was homeschooled…? It was strange, nevertheless, and they had many unanswered questions.

The little beaded bag that had been stuffed into her jeans pocket, currently sat on the breakfast counter, after Lily had tried—and failed—to get it open (as seen by the Blemish Blitzer salve slathered over her forehead where the spelled boils read: SNOOPER). It was a curious thing, something that boggled both of their minds; though James could recognise a few of the enchantments from when his own mother had tried to keep things hidden from curious childish fingers. It didn't look like they'd need a curse-breaker to get it open, but it definitely would take more than a few wands to pry that thing open. But they other things to worry about at this point in time, so it was put on the back burner, for now.

At some point whilst they had been cleaning up, Elvendork had sauntered into the room and situated herself atop the teen's chest; looking pleased as punch when a hand had subconsciously risen from the depths of the blanket and threaded their fingers into her golden fur. "That—that s-scar…" Lily choked on the word, still slightly pale from the discovery of the cursed scar. "It's not fresh"

"Do—do you know how old?" James was almost afraid to ask. As a healer-in-training, he knew that Lily would at least know a bit more about the art, than him. He could kind of remember her complaining about having to identify scars on pigs…or had she been calling him a pig?

Lily licked her lips, "A couple of years, at least"

"Merlin…" James breathed, aghast.

"Yeah…"

The two sank into relative silence, neither really wanting to leave the room despite the knowledge that it was likely the safest room in the house. But both James and Lily were far too wired to sleep, or at least James thought so. At one point he'd glanced over to find his wife slumped up agains the doorframe, fast asleep with a stringy line of drool slipping down her chin; seemed the night took more out of her, than they thought. Rising from his stoop, James scooped her up—with only a few protesting grumbles—and escorted the redhead back to their bed. Tucking her in, he pulled up the blankets and placed a hand-knitted quilt (courtesy of the Prewett's sister, for their wedding) over her. After pressing a loving kiss to her forehead, Jame snatched up the empty mug that Lily had stubbornly been clinging to, and quietly made his way back downstairs, collecting his on the way.

"What have we gotten ourselves into?" James sighed into his hands as he leant against the kitchen bench; the weight of the evening finally hitting him now that the adrenaline had dissipated.

"Taking to yourself again, Prongsie?" Sirius Black's muffled voice sounded above him. Grinning despite himself, James reached up to pluck the shard of two-way glass from where it was tucked between the recipe books and turned it over to find the unmistakable voluminous locks of one of his best mates, staring back him. "Sign of madness, that is"

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Paddy?" James replied, just as jokingly. It had only been a couple of months since they'd gone into hiding, but he still missed these easy-going bickering between his best mates far more than he would ever admit.

Sirius propped himself up on one elbow, the other coming up to rake through his hair. "So, what's going on in Disneyland?"

"Oh, y'know the usual" James laughed sarcastically as he turned to lean against the sink. "Stuffed my face with Chocolate Frogs, Lils danced, Harry cackled, Elvendork shat in my shoes and a muggleborn collapsed on my doorstep. What 'bout you?"

"…Run that by me again?"

"S'at Jimmy?" Came the sleepily slurred voice of one, Remus Lupin, as sandy locks and freckled cheeks peeked into frame as he propped his chin on Sirius' shoulder.

"Yeah" Sirius deadpanned, "And 'apparently, they've picked up some bird from their doorstep"

"That's nice…" Remus nodded, flopping back into bed. James grinned as he watched his canine friend then shoot upwards a moment later as those words registered. He startled Sirius so much that he fumbled with the magical mirror shard for a good solid minute or two. "WHAT?! AND YOU JUST LET 'ER IN!? HOW THICK ARE YOU?!"

"She's just a kid, Moony" James replied solemnly, running a hand through his messy lock. "Muggleborn"

"How'd you know?" Sirius asked this time, brows furrowed and way too close to the magical item. It reminded him of when he'd tried to teach his grandparents how to use a camera.

"She's got a…" He hesitated on the last word, bitterly rolling it around in his mouth as it left a sour taste on his tongue. "…Brand"

"YOU LET A BABY DEATH EATER INTO YOUR HOUSE?!"

"They carved 'MUDBLOOD' into her arm, you dingus!"

"…Oh"

"Yeah…"

"You gonna tell Dumbledore?"

"We haven't gotten that far yet—haven't even got a name, yet. Witch passed out as soon as she came inside"

"Shit man, you—"

"—D'you need us to come over?"