Falling

by trynathink

It had been seven years. Of course they had a little of the other in them. Of course it hurt when the other wasn't there anymore. The separation could have been a day, an hour, a minute, and Grace was sure it would have hurt the same—a cleaver sailing straight through her soul, severing it into two. (Everyone Lives AU; sequel to 'Flying')

19. Rat

Rat

James gains a sister and loses a brother.

---

James awoke to an onslaught of kisses. One by one they came, fast and fervent and fleeting, against his cheeks, his forehead, his chin. James reacted on instinct alone and curled towards the warmth of Lily's body. He was still in a daze, not quite awake, blindly seeking out his wife on the bed. Lily leaned over to plant one last kiss against his temple. Her hair fanned over him, tickling his cheek, as she pulled back. The mattress shifted under him as Lily slid out. She padded across the soft carpeting of the master bedroom. James felt her absence viscerally, a striking cold that left him wanting. His eyes flickered open blearily, but he only managed to catch sight of Lily's crimson hair disappearing behind the bathroom door as she clicked it shut.

James exhaled softly and rolled towards the center of the bed, stretching out his limbs and sinking deep into the comfort of the mattress. He didn't know exactly what time it was, but judging by the rosy pink glow outlining the drawn curtains, it must have been quite early. James knew he'd have to get out of bed and begin his day, too, but he couldn't find the energy to do just that. Sleep weighed heavily on him. With the fluffy down of the quilt wrapped around him, with the soft cushion of the pillow beneath his head, he soon found his aching eyes fluttering to a close. It was easy, too easy, to simply let his tired body melt into the bed. Nothing in him could fight the need to sleep; nothing in him wanted to. He had spent half of last night tailing Rowle and reporting back to Moody on the known Death Eater's movement. He'd collapsed into bed at around three in the morning, falling into a deep unconsciousness as soon as his head hit the pillow. James had never had a very easy time going to sleep. Before he joined the Order, he'd always struggled to go to bed at a reasonable time. He was simply too active: his mind was always excited, his body always energized. But these past few months had changed everything. Between Auror work and missions for the Order, James had little to no energy left by the end of the day. Scratch that, he still had no energy left. He could barely lift his head as he heard Lily stop the faucet, the sound of rushing water coming to a halt.

The bathroom door opened. Lily crept out quietly. James heard the drawers of their shared dresser open and close.

"What time is it?" he yawned.

"A little past six," Lily whispered. "You have a while until work. I'm just on early shift with Frank for today."

It took James a moment to process what Lily was saying. When he did, he bolted up, a surge of wakefulness traveling through him.

"Oh," he said dumbly. "It's Friday?"

"Yeah, it's Friday." She shuffled back towards the bedside, meeting his dull, drowsy gaze with a bright one of her own. She ran a hand through his ruffled, unruly hair tenderly. "Go back to sleep, James. You have until nine."

"Exactly! I have until nine!" He tried to throw himself off the bed, but Lily gently stopped him by holding onto his shoulder. He looked at her almost pleadingly. "I can join you and Frank, at least for a little while."

"You shouldn't," she said immediately. "You came in so late last night. How much sleep did you get?"

"Er—enough, I think—"

"James," she began, frowning, "I know you think you're not doing enough, but you are. You're just as much use at the Auror Office as you are while doing work for the Order. You can't keep tagging along for early morning shifts. Never mind that Moody and Vance don't like it—it also affects you. You need sleep, or you won't be much help to anyone."

He frowned right back, but he couldn't keep it on his face for very long. He let out a small, defeated sigh and dropped his eyes. "But… You know what we do at the Auror Office isn't real work—"

"It's real enough," she said firmly. She rose from the bedside and strode over to grab a dark-colored cloak hanging off the knob of the wardrobe. "I don't have time to debate it with you, James. I've got to go meet Frank. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

His heart shriveled inside his chest. He fell back onto the bed and stared up aimlessly at the ceiling. With his Order work relegated to evenings and weekends due to his job at the Auror Office and Lily's Order work scheduled for early mornings and afternoons, they rarely had a moment to catch up with each other except for a small window of time late at night. This sacrifice might have been worth it if James were actually doing anything of use at the Auror Office—which he wasn't. He had been so excited as a trainee. He had thought working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would be like carrying out missions for the Order of the Phoenix, just more official, just with more recognition. But that wasn't the case at all. The Ministry of Magic was drenched in bureaucracy and drudgery, and the Auror Office was no exception. Apart from one night when he had been called to help escort wayward Hogwarts students from Hogsmeade to the Ministry for questioning following a Death Eater attack, James hadn't done any active fieldwork for the Auror Office. His days at the office were spent reporting to his supervisor, compiling case files, and filing paperwork with the Wizengamot Administration Services. He knew that, objectively, he must be doing some good holed up at his desk at the Ministry. Aurors could duel and chase down criminals all they wanted, but no one they caught could be sent to Azkaban without the proper paperwork. What James did for his superiors was absolutely integral—but it simply didn't feel that way at all. It felt like he was wasting time playing with some papers at his desk while Lily and Sirius and Peter and Remus and everyone else were out risking their lives.

"See you tonight," James echoed quietly.

She stopped and smiled warmly at him from the door. "Go to sleep," she said again, and every word was soaked with love and care.

She blew him a kiss and slunk out of the bedroom, softly shutting the door behind her. James heard her travel swiftly down the stairs, rummage around the kitchen for a few minutes, and then there was no noise at all. She had left the house, gone off to the Apparition spot to meet with Frank.

James tried to drift back to sleep, but it was difficult to return to the quiet restfulness of sleep when such turbulent thoughts were running through his head. He had always been so sure of himself, had always thrust himself forward with no regard for danger or risk. That was who he was: James Potter, the kid who took Bludgers straight to the head if it meant knocking the Quaffle into a goal, the man who accepted Dumbledore's offer to fight at the frontlines alongside the Order without taking so much as a minute to think it over. But ever since his parents' deaths… He still didn't feel quite the same. He wondered if he ever would. Hesitancy and solemnity clung to him. He was impatient and easily irritated in a way he never had been before. He was ashamed of himself: of thinking being an Auror was like playing Quidditch—something invigorating, something watched and lauded—of watching his friends go out to spend an entire day protecting families and battling Death Eaters while he sat in a little office twiddling his fingers, of being alone in the cottage so early in the morning, without Lily or his parents or even…

He tried not to think about it. He spent about an hour tossing and turning in bed, trying to sleep but failing, trying to convince himself he was useful and failing, trying to feel less lonely and failing. A cruel thought slipped into his mind: was the rest of his life going to be determined by failure? Was he supposed to devote the rest of his life heading to the Auror Office and being of little use? Heading home to Lily and feeling sorry for himself and being of even less use?

He gave up on sleep quickly and decided to get ready and head to work. If he couldn't tag along with Lily and Frank as they kept an eye on Goyle, he might as well head to the Auror Office and keep busy. There was no shortage of paperwork to write up and file there. No matter how boring and underwhelming the task seemed, it would at least give him something to do, keep him occupied and distracted.

With a certain drag to his step, James hauled himself into the bathroom. In a haze of absentmindedness, he stepped into the shower and accidentally set the water to cold instead of hot, enduring a grueling thirty seconds of ice-cold water pelting his back as he fumbled with the faucet. But the experience turned out for the better. The piercing cold jolted him out of his depressing reverie, and he began to focus on more menial things: where he'd tossed his Ministry-issued fountain pen Portkey when he came home last night, if he had a spare set of work robes to wear since both he and Lily had been too busy to do the laundry last weekend, and so on.

By the time he'd stepped out of the shower and was back in the bedroom, digging through the wardrobe for a fresh set of robes, he was well into the routine of the morning. He'd come to appreciate mornings in the past few months. It was upsetting, of course, that so few of them were shared with Lily nowadays, but there was a certain peace of mind that still managed to relax him. There was distraction in routine, in flicking past robe after robe in the wardrobe, in shaking out his cloak from last night as he searched for his Portkey (before realizing, at last, he could simply summon it with his wand), in standing in front of his mirror and spending ten minutes trying to fix his tousled and unkempt hair into an even more tousled and unkempt state. There was simplicity in this repetition. While he busied himself with these trivial details, he could ignore the swirling, burning mix of emotion that had sat heavy in his heart since winter. Just for a little while longer, he could ignore it.

He shuffled out of the bedroom and began down the long hallway towards the staircase. The shaggy crimson rug that lined the floor was soft and supple under his bare feet. Splotches of honeyed light wavered over the floor as a few shafts of light made their way through the slits of the curtained windows. Beyond the walls, James could hear the morning sounds of Godric's Hollow: birds chirping as they flew by, the distant noises of Muggle cars as they rushed through the streets, the rickety gate of their backyard thudding against the fencing as the wind buffeted it to and fro.

When James reached the first step of the staircase, he stopped for just a moment. His eyes flickered back down the hallway, glancing past the silent, moving photographs of his parents that hung on the wall, past the closed door of the master bedroom, past the sloppily shut curtains that adorned the back window—until he reached the bedroom door at the very end of the corridor. This bedroom door was firmly shut. It had been since the funeral. No one ever entered or left it, because there wasn't anyone who lived in that room anymore.

He didn't mean to look, of course. It was just that he couldn't help it. This, too, was a part of his morning routine: the brief millisecond of hesitation, his feet lingering at the first step, the long, aching glance back. He wasn't looking because he thought Grace might have miraculously returned to her room overnight. No, that wasn't it. He was looking because he wanted an answer. He wanted to know if he had done the right thing by not hearing her out when she stopped by the cottage in February. The answer had been easy enough in the beginning. When he was still angry, when he was still hurt and upset, the answer had been yes. He'd done the right thing. Every morning, he'd come out and look at that door, that polished rectangle of mahogany, with something like frustration. Something like indignation. How dare that door be there, flaunting its presence. How dare it remind him of someone who had hurt him so deeply. Of course he had done the right thing. She might have hurt him more if he had let her in.

But as the weeks weaned on, that stinging, bitter feeling swelling in his chest softened into something sadder. Now that it was Easter and he spent all his mornings alone, he could not help but look at the door and wonder where Grace was instead. If everything had not gone so badly, she would be there. She would be behind that door. She would be fiddling with the lights and the electricity he and Lily had installed in late January. She would be calling down to ask what was for breakfast. She would… She would be here, and perhaps that awful, splitting crack in James's heart wouldn't be hurting so badly.

James turned away sharply. He steeled his heart and headed downstairs, pushing the bizarre, roiling mix of hurt, anger, and love into some deep crevice between his ribs. But this was James. This was the James who had rescued his self-proclaimed "worst enemy" from the tunnel underneath the Whomping Willow. This was the James who spent six years enduring Lily's annoyance and irritation before finally prevailing. There was a gentleness in him, some valor in him—a wealth of golden light that could never stay pushed aside for too long. He knew what was right, what was truly right. He knew arguments took two. (James hated to lose arguments. He was a little too prideful. Perhaps even more than a little.) He knew he had to apologize, too, but he wanted Grace to apologize first. And he wanted her to do it properly. He didn't want another lukewarm apology hastily cobbled together on the front doorstep and quickly followed by a demand that he drop everything and help her. He wanted her to understand what she had said was wrong. What she had said to Lily was nothing short of despicable. He needed Grace to know that. It hurt him to think she didn't understand that. It hurt him to think she didn't love what he loved. (How could he have opened the door that night? How could he have invited that hurt back into his heart so soon? Perhaps there was a little Slytherin in him, too. He had been thinking of himself that night. He had only wanted to safeguard his heart.)

By the time James reached the kitchen, his heart was starving for some warmth. Lily had set up her coffee machine—a Muggle contraption that James was hopeless in using—for him already, so all he had to do was press a button. The sight of the mug Lily had placed for him made his chest constrict painfully. He wished she were here more than ever. He wished someone was here. James had never been a solitary creature. The loneliness he had felt these past few months seemed enough to kill him.

The machine let out a shrill beep as it finished its brew. James took the steaming mug and downed the black, unsugared coffee in three large gulps. Scalding, bursting hot, it scorched and sizzled as it slid down the back of his throat, pulling him out of any thoughts of empty cottages and wayward sisters.

---

As always, the Auror Office was packed to the brim. Off-duty Aurors waded through occupied desks and frantic secretaries, trying to catch sight of their superiors for one final briefing before heading out. Weedy witches and wizards from the Wizengamot Administration Services were fluttering about nervously, summoning last-minute paperwork for arresting officers to complete before today's trials began. There were even a few petty criminals lounging and scowling in a curtained-off area as their arrests were waiting to be processed.

James maneuvered through the thick clot of people silently. He waved half-heartedly to the few people he knew and made a beeline for his supervisor at the back of the room. Junior Aurors, like James, were expected to check in with their mentors the moment they entered the Auror Office. When James had first transitioned from trainee to junior Auror, he had hoped his mentor would be someone from the Order—Moody or Vance—if only because it would allow for some crossover between his Order missions and Auror work. But this plan of his didn't exactly pan out. Vance, though a full-fledged Auror in her own right, had broken off from the main office in favor of fleshing out the newly formed Espionage Sector, which was an off-shoot of the Auror Office that was under the joint oversee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department of International Magical Cooperation. She no longer had time to manage young Aurors as they joined the ranks. And Moody wasn't keen on the idea of having an impatient, impulsive junior Auror tagging along; he was worried it might slow him down. So, with no one to claim him, James was assigned to a high-ranking Auror at random.

He reached the back half of the office, which was dedicated to tracking down local criminal hideouts. His supervisor, Theodora Decker, was deep in conversation with a few of her underlings: Aurors who were reporting back from early morning fieldwork. Though her career was not as exciting or illustrious as Moody's, she was a stalwart member of the Auror Office, a bedrock of information pertaining to criminal organizations. It was just too bad that James had to be assigned to her in the midst of a war. Of course, not everything at the Auror Office was devoted to Death Eater activity. There were other transgressions to be stopped and accounted for, too. Decker was currently cracking down on a counterfeiting ring headed by an ex-Gringotts employee by the name of Oleg Voronin. It wasn't that James didn't think this was a particularly noble cause. It was just that…this certainly didn't seem like much compared to the Aurors and Hit Wizards who were dispatched to battle and bring in Death Eaters.

"Ah, Potter," Decker acknowledged, catching sight of him. Her hair caught silver under the harsh light of the office as she looked up at him. There were dark circles rung under her eyes, as well as those of her two companions. James could only guess they had been hard at work throughout the night. "Good to see you, good to see you… Listen, we're closing in on Voronin. Narrowed down the hideout to two locations. We'll be needing warrants to check it out. I need you to head to admin to get them approved."

Her desk was buried in old scrolls and photographs. She hurriedly dug through the mess and pulled out nearly a dozen scrolls of parchment. She held them out towards James and looked at him expectantly.

"If we could get it before lunch," one of the Aurors next to her added, glancing at his watch, "that'd be aces. We can check out both before shift ends."

"Sure," James said wearily, taking the necessary paperwork in hand. "I'll get on it. Will I be accompanying you when you head out later?"

His tone wasn't so much hopeful as it was desperate. James would rather be fighting Death Eaters than anything, but if that was truly out of the question, he should at least be able to go outside and explore a couple of buildings instead of stand in line waiting for paperwork to be processed all day.

But, of course, Decker simply shook her head. "You haven't the experience yet, Potter. This operation is the culmination of over a year of work. It's a delicate one."

"Right…" James murmured. This was the same excuse she gave every time he asked. He was beginning to wonder if anyone here understood that he wouldn't be able to gain any experience if he was being kept at the office every day. Or perhaps that was their plan: keep him devoid of any experience so he could only ever be at the office to ferry their ridiculous amounts of paperwork from department to department. "Well, I, er, better get this to admin then."

"Right-o," Decker said, already turning back to her group of Aurors.

James swallowed his sigh and headed out to the Wizengamot Administration Services. Though it was early in the morning, Level 2 of the Ministry was flush with people. Hit Wizards were running for the Floo at full speed, senior members of the courts were strolling through the halls, and there were a great deal of reporters and spectators crowding around the large double doors that led to the Wizengamot. James didn't have the time to stick around to find out precisely which high-profile trial people were raving about now. He wanted to get Decker's paperwork processed as quickly as possible. It wasn't yet nine, so the chances of there being a long queue at the administrative office were slim to none. If he could get Decker's warrants to her within the next hour, she'd head out with her team right then and there—and James would have nothing left to do for the rest of the day. He could probably head out early and join Lily and Frank as they did real work.

The administrative office that oversaw the Wizengamot was stuffed into a small corner of the floor, far from the actual courtroom itself and frustratingly out-of-the-way for James. There were five queues set up, each leading to the desk of a representative who would aid with queries and requests. Unfortunately, since it was still rather early, there was currently only one witch at the office—and she was in the middle of a screaming match with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Barty Crouch Sr., and the Head of the Auror Office, Howard Atkinson.

"—And I am telling you, Mister Crouch," the witch bit out, "that we are waiting on a magistrate to arrive and—"

"This is absolutely absurd!" Crouch barked. "How can no one have informed me of such a setback until the day of the trial—"

"Multiple invoices were sent—"

"Have you any idea how many invoices I receive on a daily basis? Hundreds! You shouldn't have been sending them to me; you should have been sending them to the Auror Office! They carried out the arrest, after all!"

The witch, a young, bronze-haired woman of about thirty, sat down heavily in her chair and gave Crouch a severe look. "We did send invoices to the Auror Office as well."

Stark silence met her words. James began to creep to the corner of the room, hoping wildly that Atkinson and Crouch would leave soon and he could hand off the large pile of scrolls in his arms. He only had to give this paperwork to an available admin witch, and he was done.

Crouch turned to Atkinson slowly and, with fury burning through every word, said, "Were there invoices, Atkinson?"

"S—sir," Atkinson stammered, "you have to understand the state the Auror Office was in when Mulciber was found out. He was one of us! Worse than that, he was in charge of arrests—"

"So, what, he was the only one who knew how to process arrests? No one could figure out how to arrest him?" Crouch said. "Are your Aurors truly so incompetent, Atkinson?"

James shrunk in his corner, attempting to hide the standard-issue grey of his Auror robes with the parchment in his hands.

"The office was in disarray—" Atkinson tried futilely.

"Then you should have organized it! Do you have any idea what is at stake here? The fact that there was a Death Eater in the Auror Office was a major blow to the image of the Ministry. Can you imagine how much worse it'll be if I go over to the Wizengamot right now and tell all the reporters who have gathered that we will have to throw out the case because of a testimony that is missing one signature?"

"Th—throw out the case," Atkinson said faintly. "You can't throw it out—"

"I shouldn't, but there is a legal precedence that must be followed!" Crouch threw up his hands in despair. "This is why we shouldn't be bothering with trials any longer! There are simply too many affidavits and testimonies that get backlogged or forgotten, that end up postponing trials or overturning rulings based on technicalities…"

"And that is not our fault," the witch at the desk said firmly, continuing to eye Crouch with great distaste. "We have always been a small department. With the amount of evidence and queries your departments push through here—it's a miracle that Mulciber's arrest and trial are even occurring within the same year."

"That's precisely the problem," Crouch sighed. His ire had died down into something more defeated. "Mulciber was found out so long ago, and only now we can formally hold his trial—well, I should hope we can, if we can get that last signature."

"I'll inform you when the magistrate arrives," the witch said. "There's nothing to be done until then."

Crouch's lips twitched into a displeased grimace for a moment before flattening out. "Fine," he said, tone clipped. "But this cannot happen again. It shouldn't. Every minute a Death Eater is not in Azkaban is a minute they are not getting the retribution they deserve. These trials should be skipped entirely. In fact, I think I will speak with the Minister on the subject. This cannot go on. There are criminals to apprehend, and we are arguing about paperwork."

He shook his head in disgust and stalked out of the office.

"Send an invoice to the Auror Office, as well, when the magistrate arrives," Atkinson told the witch hurriedly. "Just in case Crouch misses it again."

The witch raised a brow. "And you won't lose this one?"

"I… Look, just send it, okay?"

She murmured something. Atkinson nodded sharply and strode out of the office, following after Crouch. James stepped forward from his corner unsurely.

"Next?" the witch sighed, catching sight of him.

"Hullo," James said hastily, hurrying over to the desk and dropping all of Decker's paperwork onto it. "The Auror Office needs a couple of search warrants. Everything you need should be here."

She took a deep breath, propped her chin up in her hand, and began to recite, "We've only one magistrate at the moment, and he hasn't yet arrived. There are twelve other requests currently ahead of your own. Can this stand to wait until tomorrow?"

"Er, well, ideally we'd have it by lunch…"

Her brows rose comically.

"But—but," he added quickly, "—of course, if the magistrate's not here, then… Is there another way we can get the warrants? Another department?"

She leaned back, lips twisting in thought. "Members of the Wizengamot are currently congregating for a few trials today. You might be able to find a magistrate among them to take a look at this, but you'll need to bring them here so it can be done in an official capacity—with a verifier and scribe, too."

James stared at her helplessly. There was no way he could weasel his way into the Wizengamot and start pulling aside senior members in the hopes one of them was also a magistrate.

"And how long did you say it'd take for your magistrate to arrive?" he asked desperately.

She shook out her watch and glanced at it. "He should be here within the hour, but, as I said, there are currently twelve requests ahead of your own. Unless this an urgent matter, it will be at least a day before your request can be reviewed and your warrants issued."

James had never felt more defeated. "All right," he said emptily. With Decker's operation delayed, he'd have no choice but to carry out more odd jobs for her while she stayed at the Auror Office. "Should I just leave this here, then? Or come back when the magistrate arrives?"

"I'll take care of it," she said, adding a note atop the scrolls. "We will inform the Auror Office when the warrants are ready."

"Okay, thanks," James said, not at all feeling very thankful.

He took a long, circuitous route back to the Auror Office. When he arrived and informed Decker it would be a day until her team could put a stop to Voronin's operation, she decided to have James collect all the physical and written evidence from her desk and begin to arrange it for the inevitable trial. This, apparently, was good preparation for when James would have to present evidence at his own trials. Decker watched his progress carefully, offering more than a few corrections and going off on tangents about old cases whenever she was presented with the opportunity. By the time lunch rolled around, James was not only dying of boredom, but he found himself feeling strangely upset, too. He shouldn't have been, honestly, because it wasn't that witch's fault the magistrate was backlogged with work. And it wasn't Decker's fault, either, for focusing so intently on one rampant counterfeiter. This was simply how the Auror Office worked. James should have been used to it by now, but he wasn't. And it was beginning to dawn on him that he never would be used to it—and that fact upset him. It upset him that he was so unhappy, that he was simply stuck here, that he had wasted half the day doing absolutely nothing.

James was looking forward to lunch. Sirius worked in the café in the atrium of the Ministry (it wasn't a job he particularly enjoyed, but it paid the rent for his new flat and the hours were flexible enough that he could still devote the majority of his time to the Order), and James was planning to stop by to divulge the absolute wreck of a day he'd had. But just as he was readying himself to step out, Decker stopped him with another request: a wax-stamped letter intended for Vance. Though Decker didn't give him any specifics, James was able to surmise that this was some sort of request for Vance to send an undercover operative into Voronin's fold.

He grabbed the envelope without a single complaint and began to re-route for the Espionage Sector. It was one of the smallest offices on the floor, perhaps because it consisted of no more than a handful of individuals. James was still not sure what it was they got up to over there. If he had to hazard a guess, the Espionage Sector did nothing at all. Every time he passed by the office, he was shocked to see an almost bare room: empty desks, empty chairs, empty shelves. There were always a few people around, but it was never the same person twice—or, at least, it never seemed like the same person. James was fairly certain at this point that all the spies employed by the Ministry wore glamour whenever they dropped in for an update.

Vance worked in a backroom in the office. The door was partially open, and through it James could just make out Vance with her feet kicked onto her desk, her chair tipped back slightly, lazily flipping through a report from one of her subordinates. He froze in his spot, suddenly overcome by that closed door on the second floor of Potter Cottage—Grace's bedroom. It was impossible not to think of Grace when he saw Vance nowadays. He used to talk to Vance frequently during Order meetings. He'd ask how she was faring at Hogwarts, how Grace was doing. Vance was never particularly interested in talking about Hogwarts, but James always was—until he and Grace had split ways. After the funeral, he'd distanced himself from Vance, unwilling to be reminded of Grace in any way, shape, or form. The hurt had been too visceral then, too raw. It was too easy to fall back into the pain of that fight.

But it had been months now. Everything that had happened between him and Grace, everything that had been said—it was all a blur. He could recall phrases, a few of their most stinging barbs, the way Grace had Apparated away from the funeral—a thunderous split in the air, a break in atmosphere so severe and sharp it just about cracked his heart in half. And memory had softened that wound, dulled the harsh edges of his anger. Now, when he looked at Vance and was reminded of Grace at Hogwarts, he didn't feel hurt. He just felt sad. It was a familiar sadness that wrapped around him: the sadness of the morning, the sadness of loneliness, of a diminished family.

Vance glanced up and caught sight of him hovering at the threshold of her door. She set down her file and motioned for him to enter.

"Er, hi," he mumbled, shuffling forward. He held out Decker's letter. "Sorry to disturb you. I've got a message from one of the Aurors, Theodora Decker."

"Oh, great, another one," Vance grumbled, snatching the letter from his hand and tossing it into one of the drawers of her desk. "Thanks."

He gave a jerky nod and began to leave, but found himself hesitating at the door once more. His stomach churned restlessly. He wanted to say something. He wanted to ask about Grace, but it felt strange to say something after so many months. It felt strange to ask someone else about how Grace was because he ought to have known how Grace was.

Vance raised a brow in his direction. "Do you need anything?"

There was so much he needed. He needed Decker to start giving him real work, so he could start feeling useful again, so he could fill in the empty feeling that had been growing steadily inside him since the funeral. He needed his mother and father, so they could knock some sense into their kids' heads and have them get along with each other again. He needed to know how Grace was. He needed to, because she hadn't come home for Easter, and no one seemed to understand how significant that was. Neither of them had ever spent a holiday at Hogwarts. They had always come home. Always.

And yet, that bedroom on the second floor of Potter Cottage remained empty. And James was beginning to think it was his fault, because he hadn't made the right choice that night. He'd wanted to. He really, really wanted to. But when push came to shove, when Grace came to his doorstep and knocked on the door and said, I didn't mean any of it—he didn't care. He couldn't find it in himself to care about what she had to say that night, because there was something he wanted to say. The truth—the awful, awful truth—was that he had still been angry, too angry to listen, too angry to understand. Grace had begun this fight, yes, but he finished it. That night, when he closed the door, he'd finished it.

A sharp, sinking feeling filled his chest—vast and overwhelming. When he looked back at Vance, the words came out before he could stop himself: "I was wondering how Grace has been…?"

Recognition came to Vance slowly. Her brows furrowed, then flattened. "Oh, right, right. Grace. You mentioned her sometime before. She's a friend of yours, right?"

It stung him to hear of Grace so disconnected, so removed from him. Not a sister anymore, just some distant, long-forgotten friend. He didn't know how to respond.

"Honestly, I haven't been very invested in my class lately," Vance continued somewhat apologetically. "I hardly know my students' names. She's probably doing well in class, though, if you're concerned. I'm planning on just giving everyone Os."

It wasn't what James was concerned about at all, but he simply nodded numbly, already drifting away.

---

James fled from the Auror Office as soon as the workday was over, meeting with Sirius in the atrium of the Ministry, and then with Peter outside of it. Sirius was in a chatty mood, as always, and quickly began a long anecdote about how he'd messed up a customer's latte order and had to endure almost an hour of scolding. ("I swear, for a moment, she was channeling my mother," Sirius said.) Peter drank up every word, but James stayed quiet. Though he hadn't done anything demanding, he was exhausted. He'd gotten little to no sleep last night, had spent several hours doing mind-numbing work for Decker, and he was still miffed that Vance hadn't known Grace was his sister.

James accompanied his friends to a discrete alley by the Ministry, one where few Muggles walked by, and silently Apparated to the Order's headquarters. He arrived at the base of the hill that Longbottom Manor rested atop. Frank had graciously offered his ancestral manor as the Order's base of operations. It was a simple brick-and-mortar country house far from the noise and strife of London. The entire estate was shrouded among towering cedar trees and overgrown lawns. It was a particularly good location for Order business, not only because it was hidden and out of the way, but because there were old wards and enchantments that had been woven into the very brick of the house. Of all the safe places the Order knew of, the Longbottoms' residence was the safest. No matter what hour it was, no matter what had gone wrong, you could always come here.

When James stepped into the foyer of the family home, he was surprised to see there were far more Order members than usual. At this point of the day, only those assigned to evening missions stopped by. But he could see the Prewetts, whose shifts were always separated, here together, quietly sulking in the corner. And there was a lounging Dorcas Meadowes, too, who should've been at home recovering from her night shift but was instead trying to keep awake while talking to Edgar Bones. James made his way into the open sitting room, brows furrowed. There were many more people here—Sturgis Podmore, Dedalus Diggle, Elphias Doge—and he couldn't imagine what for. Part of him wondered if there had been some sort of emergency, but nothing about the scene he had stepped into seemed at all frantic. If someone were in trouble, like Marlene and her family had been a month ago, the place would be buzzing with activity: healing potions being swiped from the cabinet, witches and wizards running down the hillside in a frenzy.

Alice caught sight of James, Sirius, and Peter before anyone else. She left her husband's side and quietly made her way over to them, ushering them further inside. The torches that lit the sitting room were running low, casting tall, looming shadows over the walls.

"What's happening?" Sirius asked. "It's usually just Moody, you, and Frank at this time."

"Something's gone wrong," Alice sighed heavily. "All the Death Eaters we've been following have simply vanished."

Peter squeaked in surprise.

"All of them?" James repeated, brows lifting high.

"Well, a couple—Avery, Rosier—haven't quite disappeared. They've got to head to work and whatnot. Can't afford to go into hiding or anything like that. But the one's we've been concerned about, Rowle, Goyle, Macnair, and a few others—they've vanished into thin air. It happened first to Frank during morning shift. Some time while he and Lily were relieving Dorcas and Edgar, Goyle simply vanished."

"He must have just Apparated somewhere," Sirius said immediately. "Gone home, perhaps?"

"That's what you'd think, right?" Alice said. "Dorcas and Edgar had been following him all night. He'd been acting unusual then, too, but they hadn't realized it yet. A normal night would've had him meet up with a few of his friends, go to some Muggle town to find a few targets, and duel Dorcas and Edgar while they tried to stop him. But he didn't really go anywhere. Just went to a few pubs all night, and then the guard change happened—and then he vanished. They went to his house, Frank and Lily, and stayed a few hours watching it… But it didn't seem like anyone was at home."

James's head swiveled around the room. "Where's Lily now?"

"She went home a few hours ago. After she checked out Goyle's house with Frank, and then a few other hiding spots, there wasn't much else to do. Goyle's just gone. And so are the others. The same thing happened to the Prewetts with Rowle. And the same with Macnair. And so on. Something's happening. They've caught on, Voldemort and his Death Eaters…" Her eyes flickered between all three of them. "I'd suggest you go home, too. There's nothing to be done. We've been trying to come up with some sort of strategy since noon, but…"

"But there must be something we can do," Sirius insisted. "Why're you lot all holed up here, if there's nothing else that can be done?"

"We're trying to figure out what Voldemort's plan is, exactly, but we're not having much luck. I think Moody's just trying to fill in the time until Dumbledore's done with Wizengamot trials and he can discuss with him directly." Alice rubbed a hand across her forehead. "My heart just about stopped when Frank came back with Lily and said Goyle was gone. I thought maybe an Auror had booked him and he was going to Azkaban—and then the whole plan would've gone for a toss. Voldemort would get his Dementors. But—"

"He's not in Azkaban," James finished. He would have heard about it at the Auror Office if Goyle had been arrested.

Alice nodded. "Yeah. He's just gone. Voldemort's found out that we've been trying to drive back his Death Eaters without Auror intervention, so he's just putting them away for the time being. Trying to figure out what to do next, I guess."

"Surely there's something we can do in the meanwhile?" James said. "Have you checked out all their favorite hiding spots? Rowle sometimes goes to his ex-wife's. Did the Prewetts check there?"

Alice shrugged. "Ask Moody."

She floated back to where Frank was handing out tea to those who had been here the whole day.

"I've never felt more conflicted," Sirius sighed, surveying the scene. "On the one hand, I love less work. On the other…I'd been looking forward to watching Macnair make a fool of himself today."

"There's got to be something we can do," James insisted. He hadn't just slogged through Decker's chores only to come to the Longbottoms' and find out there wasn't any Order work for him to do. He had to redeem this awful day somehow. He had to be useful at least once today. "Let's ask Moody."

"Er—I think Alice was being sarcastic when she said that," Sirius said.

"What? No, she wasn't."

"Come on, no one ever just tells you to go ask Moody something. It'll turn into a lecture. Everyone knows this!"

James rolled his eyes. "I'm going to ask. There are probably still a couple of hiding spots they've yet to check out."

"It's your funeral," Sirius murmured, but followed all the same.

Moody had abandoned his quiet muttering and grousing in favor of interrogating Dorcas and Edgar as they struggled to keep awake. James, Sirius, and Peter quietly crept up behind him, but the old, grizzled Auror heard them approach and immediately stood at attention, whipping around to catch a look at them.

"Ah," he said. By the look of disappointment quickly clouding over his face, James suspected Moody had been expecting someone else. "What d'you lot want?"

"We came to see if there's anything we could do to help," James said eagerly. "Alice said some of the Death Eaters have disappeared. We can go out to search—"

"There won't be any searching," Moody said immediately, sitting down heavily. "This is a trap. I'm convinced of it. It's too sudden, too suspicious. They know we've been favoring Goyle, Macnair, and Rowle. They know we've caught onto their plan. They're hiding them now, I'm sure of it, and expecting us to follow down the trail without a second thought."

James looked at Moody desperately. "Or they're just regrouping. Shouldn't we at least check out a few other places? I dunno if you've checked Rowle's ex-wife's—"

"There won't be any searching," Moody said again, this time with irritation scorching every word. He looked at James with a deep, displeased frown. "Something's wrong with this whole situation. We have to wait it out a bit. You're welcome to sit here with the rest of us and throw around ideas until Dumbledore arrives. What you're not welcome to do is go out on your own and chase Rowle right into whatever trap Voldemort's got laid out and get yourself killed. Is that understood?"

James's lips pinched together. "Yeah, I've got it."

Moody returned his attention to Dorcas and Edgar, but not without giving James one last, probing look. "You can't be an Auror without thinking things through, Potter," he added gruffly.

Frustration flashed through James. He turned around and began to stalk towards the front door. Sirius, who'd been only a few feet away, joined his side readily. Peter followed after a moment.

"Sorry, mate," Sirius winced. "Can't say I didn't warn you, though."

"Moody's just got a rough personality," Peter added placatingly.

James stepped outside and had to physically stop himself from slamming the door behind him. "I just wanted to do something today. That's all. He didn't have to bring being an Auror into it. S'not like I even want to be an Auror anymore…"

Sirius gave him a sympathetic look. "I think you'd be a lot happier if you just quit."

"I can't just quit," James said immediately. "I don't quit things."

"Quitting isn't always a bad thing," Sirius consoled. "Like—quitting cigarettes. That's the sort of quitting that's good. And quitting your job at the Auror Office, where everyone just sits on their arses as the world erupts into chaos, would also be the good sort of quitting."

"Sirius…" he said wearily.

"I'm not trying to make a joke," Sirius said sincerely. "I genuinely think you'd be a lot happier if you quit. You don't need the money, not right now. You'd have time to sleep in. You'd have time to spend with Lily. You'd have time to put in with the Order. And you wouldn't be moping around like you're doing right now."

"I'm not moping."

"Yes, you are. That look on your face right now? That's textbook moping. Right, Peter?"

Peter glanced at Sirius. "Please don't bring me into this."

"Too late, you're already in it. So, what do you say? Is that—" Sirius gestured at James's face, "—moping or not?"

"I suppose…" Peter met James's eyes and hastily looked away, "…it's sort of mopey."

"There you have it!" Sirius said triumphantly.

"Fine, I'm moping," James grumbled. "But it's not because of my job."

"Then what?" Sirius asked.

"This day has just been shit," James said crossly, kicking at the ground and sending a small spurt of soil flying. "When I was heading down for some breakfast, I remembered it was Easter and Grace hadn't come home and… I dunno, it just made the whole day go sour."

All the humor dropped from Sirius's face. His eyes traced over James with concern. "She's probably at Hogwarts," he tried.

"Yeah, I know, but she should've written me at least. I know we're not exactly on speaking terms, but just a sentence would've been enough. 'Hey, I'm staying here for Easter. Bye.' At least that way I wouldn't have to wonder."

"She's embarrassed," Sirius said. "She blew up in your face, and then she tried to make it better by sneaking out of school and coming 'round to yours in the dead of night… She must have realized by now how utterly in the wrong she is, and she's just embarrassed. I'd be, if it were me."

"I dunno…" James said unsurely.

"Look, I hate to be blunt but—"

James glanced up at Sirius and snorted. "You don't. You love being blunt."

"Yeah, but you look like your puppy just died, so I'm saying I hate being blunt." Sirius's eyes softened. "You're spending all of your time worrying over someone who didn't have the decency to offer you a proper apology, let alone write a letter telling you where they'd be during holiday. Just worry about yourself, mate. Grace is clearly too busy worrying about herself."

"I know, I know," James sighed. "It's easy to say that sort of thing about other people, though. It's easy to say that someone's not worth the trouble. But this isn't just someone. It's my sister… Merlin, I still can't believe she'd say something like that. If it didn't happen right in front of me, I wouldn't believe it at all…"

Sirius stayed silent, giving James a moment to process the thick tangle of emotion in his heart by himself. James dug his heel deeper into the dirt. Sirius was trying to get him to understand, he knew, but it would never work. James knew precisely where Sirius was coming from. In any other situation, he'd agree. Why waste time worrying over someone who wasn't at all concerned about you? But this was his sister. He'd been worried about her his whole life. And he'd promised Mum, too, before she passed on. He said he'd look after Grace.

Typical of Grace, though, to make looking after her so difficult.

"But, James…" Peter began.

James would never admit it, not even to himself, but today had been so terribly draining that he couldn't stop the thought before it pushed its way into his head: Peter's voice could be so annoying, so cloying. James simply wasn't in the mood to hear it, the whine-like drawl that traced through his voice, the hesitating halt that preceded each word, as though he were waiting for James and Sirius's approval before continuing. Normally, James would be understanding. Peter was simply anxious. He always had been. But today, James just wanted Peter to say what he had to say and be done with it.

"You say you can't believe it, but…" Peter continued in that frail, careful voice of his. "Maybe it was always coming to this. Your sister was Sorted into Slytherin and all. You've always made jokes. Can you really be surprised?"

James's eyes snapped up to meet Peter—and this time, the blond didn't look away. There was an edge of unfamiliarity in Peter's face, something James wasn't used to because he'd rarely, if ever, seen it. There was a gleam in Peter's eye, a scrap of something sly and prodding, the sort of look James and Sirius sometimes had when they were taking the piss out of someone who hadn't realized they were the butt of the joke. But James didn't recognize it, because he didn't stop to think about why Peter had said what he'd said. He skipped that step entirely. All he'd heard was sister and Slytherin and jokes—and he didn't like that one bit. Fury flared in him, bright and quick, a wildfire ready to consume all in its path.

"Yeah?" James snapped. His voice was as harsh as he could make it, something rough and unloving. It reminded him of the funeral. "Well, it just so happens that I'm of the belief that some people are Sorted into their Houses for no good reason. You were put in Gryffindor, after all."

And, like a coward—because that's what James felt like, a coward who couldn't deal with his parent's deaths so he took it out on his sister, a coward who couldn't let the hurt back into his heart so he closed the door on his sister—James turned his back on Peter and Sirius and began to blaze down the hillside. By the time he was beyond the anti-Apparition wards, he was burning with guilt and shame. He could hear someone scampering through the grass behind him, and hoped desperately it wasn't Peter because he didn't have an apology ready yet. He didn't even know what to say. He was just irritated, just frustrated. And anger had never sat well with him. He'd never learned how to hold his anger inside of himself. He was the first child of a couple who'd, for the longest time, thought they couldn't have children; he'd been spoiled, spent his entire childhood weaponizing his tantrums, learning how to use anger by turning it outward. He didn't know how to hold it within himself. He didn't even know if it was possible to do such a thing. It always seemed to come out of him in bursts and barbs, and it stung. It stung so awfully. He knew it did, because Grace shared his temper almost exactly and he'd been on the receiving end of it more than once.

When at last the guilt had consumed him entirely, James decided to stop and turn around. He was relieved to find that it was Sirius, not Peter, who was coming after him.

"He said it badly, I know," Sirius said, stuffing his hands into his pocket and joining in step with James. "But he was being honest. It wasn't anything you haven't said before."

"I know," James grunted. Perhaps that was why it hurt so badly. You've always made jokes. He did. He made so many jokes, and maybe—after one too many—Grace started thinking they weren't actually jokes.

"You owe him an apology."

"I know."

Sirius said nothing more, and that was precisely what he needed to do, what James wanted him to do. Sirius understood better than anyone because he had had his fair share of outbursts (and perhaps even more than his fair share). They had seen the ugliest in each other, weathered the worst of the other's storms. There was nothing left to say today. James knew precisely what to do; he just had to gather enough courage to do it. But could he? There was some truth in what he'd said to Peter. Meaningless Sortings must exist because James didn't feel very much like he belonged in Gryffindor right now. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if he ever belonged there.

---

Sirius accompanied James to Potter Cottage. It was rare that they got to unwind with each other in the evening; they were usually outrunning Death Eaters and shooting stray spells behind their backs at this time of day.

"It feels like I haven't been here in forever," Sirius sighed, stepping through the door. He hung his cloak on the coat rack and stretched his limbs out.

"Is it strange that I feel the same way?" James said, following after him.

They padded down the hallway. James could hear Lily's voice floating from the living room. When he popped his head in through the open archway, he saw that she was sitting cross-legged on the rug with a telephone receiver tucked snugly between her ear and her shoulder. There was a bottle of open maroon nail polish balanced precariously on the edge of the coffee table. Lily held up her left hand, the brush held tightly in her right, and squinted at her work.

"It's impractical to expect something like that," she told the person on the other line. "We've only a few contacts willing to open their houses. We're trying to broaden the network, but people are afraid, Reginald."

James tiptoed into the room and collapsed next to Lily, pressing a swift kiss against her temple. Her eyes, a bright and brilliant green that never failed to lighten his heart, glanced over to him. She smiled and mouthed, Hello, love. Her gaze then flickered to Sirius, who jumped onto the armchair across from them, stretching his legs out over the side so they could feel the warmth of the crackling hearth.

Lily winced suddenly and returned her attention to the call. "Right, I know, but—all right, what is it?"

James couldn't quite hear what Reginald was saying over the phone, but he could still make out a severely upset voice. Exasperation brewed across Lily's face. She turned her attention back to her nails, finishing the pinkie of her left hand.

"Hmm, that all sounds very pressing," she said. "I'll think about it and get back to you. I've got an important meeting now, you see."

James and Sirius's eyes met. They grinned at each other.

"Mrs. Potter," Sirius called, cupping his hands around his mouth. "We're all heading to the boardroom for the conference now. Aren't you coming?"

"I'm fetching coffee," James pitched in. "Is there anything I can get you, Mrs. Potter?"

"Ah, see?" Lily said into the receiver, clucking her tongue. "I'm quite busy, so if we could just talk some other time. Yup. All right—bye, Reginald."

She hung up and tossed the receiver to James, who gently undid the tangle in its cord and set it back in its spot on the coffee table.

"Was that the bloke who doesn't like the safe house you've set him up with?" James asked.

"Yeah," Lily said, capping her nail polish. She shook out her left hand. Her right remained unpainted. "He just doesn't like that he's abroad, but what can you do? If he wants to come back here, he's more than welcome—but he's in a lot more danger. I keep hoping he'll come to that realization on his own, but…"

"I feel for you, Lily," Sirius sighed. "Customer service is truly an underappreciated field."

She snorted. "Yeah, well, at least you get paid at the café. I'm doing this out of the goodness of my own heart, so it feels even less appreciated."

"I appreciate it," James said sincerely. "And I bet all the other Muggle-borns you've helped go abroad do, too. Reginald's just spoiled."

She smiled at him fondly. "Thanks."

He returned her smile and leaned in closer to her.

"Please don't snog in front of me," Sirius complained.

"This is our house, Sirius," Lily said.

"And I'm your guest."

"Maybe you shouldn't have come over if you didn't want to see us snog."

"But I had to," Sirius insisted. He repositioned himself on the armchair and leaned forward. "Alice told us what happened with Goyle, but I wanted to hear about it from you. Did he really just vanish while you switched out with Dorcas?"

Lily sighed. "Yeah, he did. He just Apparated, of course. I heard him leave, but Frank and I just assumed he was going home. We didn't think much of it at the start. But after a few hours watching his house, we realized he wasn't there."

"Did you check out any other places?" James asked. "I tried to get Moody to let me go out and snoop around a few other hideouts of theirs, but he was afraid it'd be a trap."

"Yeah, he started getting paranoid about the whole thing around when I left," Lily said. "Frank and I checked out a few other places, mostly pubs in Knockturn Alley, but we couldn't find him. Frank said he'd stop by with news if they manage to find out what happened, but, seeing as he hasn't and you two came straight home, I'm guessing they've made no progress."

"Nope," Sirius said. "They're waiting on Dumbledore to bestow his wisdom first."

"Of course," she chuckled. "Well, as terrible as this day has been, it wasn't a complete waste. Since I left early, I got to the bakery before they closed and picked up some treacle tart—"

"Lily, how could you not start with this news?" Sirius demanded. He leapt from the armchair and started towards the kitchen. "Have you got ice cream, too?"

"Yeah, in the freezer," she called after him.

"Grab me some, too!" James added. He looked to Lily with a glint in his eye. "Good job distracting him with the treacle tart. Now we're alone."

"Yeah, that definitely wasn't just me making conversation. It was all part of my diabolical plan to get us to have the sitting room to ourselves so we can snog in peace."

"Of course," James said, struggling to keep from bursting into laughter.

"Of course," Lily repeated, and then closed the gap between them so they could begin that diabolical plan of theirs.

James returned the kiss enthusiastically. Lily kept her left hand to her other side, waiting for the nail polish to dry, but her other hand wound its way into James's hair. He thrilled at the touch, loved the press of her lips against his, loved the citrus scent of her hair, loved the flutter of her lashes as they tickled against his skin.

They parted after a brief moment. James exhaled softly. "I missed you."

"Yeah," she said. "I missed you, too."

James leaned against the foot of the couch, slouching further down. He leaned his head against Lily's shoulder. She hummed quietly to herself as she reached over for her nail polish again, ready to work on her right hand.

"How was your day?" she asked.

"Better now—but awful before," he groaned into her shoulder. "Decker had me sort through files all day. You know Moody didn't have any work for me to do. And—Merlin, it's so stupid—I got a bit short with Peter earlier."

She glanced at him, concern flickering over her face. "Really? What happened?"

"It's stupid," he repeated. "I was being tetchy because I remembered Grace hadn't come back for Easter. And we were both saying nonsense. It's nothing, really. Just made me upset."

"If it made you upset, it's not nothing," Lily said gently.

"But it should be nothing, right? It's been weeks since she showed her face. I shouldn't be thinking about it. I should be over it by now."

"Why should you be over it? It takes time to process things, James. It takes time to sort through your feelings. How can anyone fault you for wondering about your sister? I still wonder about Petunia, no matter how awful she's been to me."

"But it wasn't just me Grace was awful to." James was having a very hard time maintaining eye contact with his wife. He dropped his gaze to the floor and intently studied the flowery pattern of the rug. "She said so much that day, and before then, too, and I would've forgiven her for it. I would've. But then she said that, and… I'd understand if you never forgave her—but it'd hurt, and I hate that because it shouldn't hurt. She did something wrong. Why should I be feeling so conflicted?"

A long silence followed. James lifted his head and saw a faint smile gracing Lily's lips.

"Who said I'd never forgive her?" she asked.

"I—I mean—I just expected…" He stared at her. "You didn't even forgive Snape, Lils, and he was your best mate."

"Sev said what he said because he believed it, James. He believed my blood was as good as mud. But do you really think Grace believes the same?" She shook her head and leaned back into the sofa. "She was just looking for ways to hurt you that day. And what better way to hurt you than to hurt me? Honestly, I'm more offended by that instead of the actual insult."

"But it's still not right," he said.

"No, it's not. And I shouldn't be making excuses for her, but…" Lily chewed at her bottom lip. "I struggle to believe Grace was really herself during the funeral. And even in the days leading up to the funeral—she hadn't quite seemed like herself then either, right?"

"I mean, with Mum and Dad and everything… Neither of us were ourselves then."

"Yeah, but even before that. Remember when we stayed the night at the Hospital Wing? She wasn't quite herself then, either."

"She was coming out of a paroxysm."

"Right, but…" Lily let out a breath. "I dunno, something just seemed so wrong. You said she was stressed at Hogwarts—and do you remember when she ran out on us when we first called her to St. Mungo's? She looked like she'd seen a ghost, and then she ran straight for the Floo to get back to Hogwarts…"

"I dunno," James sighed. "It was probably homework or something."

Lily lifted a brow. "Grace? Worried about homework?"

"Or maybe—maybe—" He tried to rack his brain for something but came up short. He hadn't been very involved with Grace's life ever since he joined the Order.

"Look, my point is that she might have been going through something even before your parents were admitted to St. Mungo's. And with everything that followed… I could understand it, James. I don't condone it, but I could understand what she did. And I don't expect you to cut her out of your life for this. I couldn't ever expect you to do that, when I've never done the same with Tuney—and I know she hates you."

James let out a snort. "Yeah, but that's sort of different. Petunia and her husband… Merlin, it's almost comical."

Lily's lips twitched into a smile. "Yeah…"

"All right, I'm entering the sitting room now, so if you're still snogging—" Sirius began loudly.

James rolled his eyes. "The coast is clear, Sirius."

"Thank Merlin," he said, entering with three plates of treacle tart and vanilla ice cream floating behind him. "By the way, I might have broken your Muggle food-heater, Lily."

"And you decided to use my microwave instead of using a heating charm, because…?"

"Because using your machines is so much more fun," Sirius said immediately. He grabbed one of the plates from the air and began to dig into his treacle tart. "Anyway, what were you guys talking about?"

"Grace and Petunia," Lily said easily, grabbing another plate for herself.

"What?" Sirius said incredulously. "How come everyone keeps having such depressing conversations today? Sod that—we're doing something fun tonight."

He set his plate down on the coffee table and patted through the pockets of his robes before finally finding what he was looking for: a loose deck of Exploding Snap.

James laughed with disbelief. "Do you just keep that on you at all times?"

"Gotta keep myself occupied at the café between customers," Sirius shrugged, shuffling the cards between his hands.

They started out with an actual game of Exploding Snap: spreading out the cards over the coffee table, fighting to tap the identical pairs with their wands before anyone else could. They spread out over the rug, armchair and sofa long forgotten, lounging and rolling over the floor with laughter whenever one of them got singed by a card. With each round that passed, James found the stress of the day melting away. All the worry and sorrow and anger he'd experienced earlier seemed so far away, seemed so impossible. The fireplace crackled with life and warmth, washing the room in sweet, honeyed light. James suddenly found it so easy to devote himself to the quiet revelry of the night. Lily's laughter was loud and bright, and James fell into effortlessly. The dizzying sugar of the treacle tart left him energized. He roared with laughter when the game slowly devolved into the three of them crouching around the living room and flicking exploding cards towards each other. Lily, he and Sirius quickly found out, was exceptionally good at hiding and then popping up in unexpected places to flick cards at them.

The energy of the living room was bright and inexhaustible. The love they had for each other was unending, and James's chest expanded with an aching warmth. Now and again, he caught his gaze flickering to the plush armchair by the fireplace, where Dad used to sit and read potioneering articles. There had been many days before and after the funeral when James had thought he would never feel happiness again. It seemed impossible then. It seemed selfish to be happy without his parents. It seemed foolish to think he could be happy without his parents. He had been so bitter then. Everything good in the world made his heart curl and sour. But now…

So much had changed. He missed Mum and Dad dearly, of course, but there was a life of his own beyond their deaths. He thought about them, but he lingered only on the good times, on those childish moments of his past: Christmas four years ago when Mum bought him yet another cable-knitted scarf as a joke and how Grace and Dad would debate the effects of herbs on different potions over dinner while he and Mum quietly mimicked them and all those moments when he had been hurt—a scraped knee or a broken heart—and Mum and Dad had taken him into their arms and shown him all their love. It felt wonderful to remember all that now. It felt wonderful to know that none of those memories or feelings died with Mum or Dad. They lived on. They lived on in this very room, in Sirius's loud laughter and Lily's ceaseless giggling, in the rushing warmth of the hearth—and even in James's own heart, which felt more vast than an ocean, some large swathe of love and affection pouring out of him. He howled with laughter as Sirius's next card sprung off the edge of the coffee table, bounced on the floor in a strange spiral, hit the edge of the table again, and then landed flat against the leg of the sofa without even smoldering.

"How?!" Sirius said in anguish. "How is that possible? It hit like five different surfaces!"

Lily was trying to wipe away tears. "Y—you keep flicking them like you're trying to throw ninja stars or something—"

"What do you mean? I'm throwing them normally!"

"No!" Lily burst into laughter again.

"You're doing this," James said, trying to imitate Sirius's elaborate card throwing. He threw a card into the air. It whirled downward and promptly scorched the rug as it landed.

"Yours caught on fire!" Sirius exclaimed. "If I'm doing it like that, mine should have caught fire, too!"

Sirius hurled another card and collapsed onto the floor in defeat when it hit the wall without even a flicker of a flame.

"You've got to throw it like this," Lily explained, rearing back her right arm. She flung her card forward, and it smacked against the curtains drawn over the window, promptly setting them aflame. "Ah, oops…"

James started laughing again.

"No, don't put it out, Lily," Sirius said, trying to stop her from grabbing her wand. "I want those curtains to burn down. They're—"

The doorbell rang, drowning out the rest of his sentence. Lily gave up on snatching her wand back and began heading towards the hallway, trying to smooth back her hair and cover up the scorch marks that littered her dress.

"It's probably Frank with the update," she said.

"Yeah," James nodded, lips still twitching. His stomach was beginning to hurt from laughing so hard. "Don't worry, I'll put out the curtains."

"No, let them burn," Sirius said. "They're ugly!"

Lily disappeared down the hall. James rose and made his way to the curtains. They weren't in any active danger. It was just a weak trail of fire steadily devouring the edge of the cloth.

"Can you vanish fire, do you think?" James asked.

"I dunno. Just use Aguamenti."

"No, I don't want to get the books wet," he said, gesturing at the bookcase underneath the window.

Sirius feigned shock. "What? When did you start reading?"

James snorted. "Okay, really though, can you—"

"James!" Lily called. "James!"

"Coming!" he responded. He crossed the room and tossed his wand over to Sirius. "You put it out, and don't make the books wet."

"I'll absolutely be making the books wet."

James shook his head and stepped out of the sitting room. As soon as he swerved around the hallway corner, he stopped—faltered, more like. Everything in him froze, kept him rooted to the spot. He could not see very well from the back of the hallway, with Lily covering half of the open doorway as she helped in their late-night visitor, but he could see well enough. He knew precisely who was at the door, even if that person was sopping wet and in tattered robes. He'd always know. He didn't need much to go on: just a pair of bright hazel eyes and wild dark hair. That was enough.

"Grace…?" he wheezed out. His lungs constricted painfully as he forced the name out.

Though his exclamation sounded loud to him—too loud, almost thunderous—the truth was, it came out as little more than a whisper. Grace didn't hear him in the slightest. Her attention was split between Lily and the person crumpled against her side.

"What happened?" Lily asked in cautious, hushed tones. She tried to lessen the burden of Grace's companion by sharing the weight, but Grace wouldn't let go. "Where were you? Did someone do this to you?"

Grace didn't answer any of these questions. Step by step, she made her way forward, lugging her companion along. Her footing was unusually unsteady; she didn't stride forward with the same forceful determination she usually did. A shadow of desperation and fatigue clung to her. As she made her way into the light of the cottage, James was met with the full sight of her—and his stomach lurched. He understood, now, why Lily was so concerned—so stricken, pale and serious—why she was ushering Grace in when she hadn't yet forgiven the younger girl.

Grace was wounded. Her arms were laced with thin scratches. There was a razor-sharp, still bleeding tear along her left bicep, where the sleeve of her robe hung in scraps. Fresh bruises were spreading across her temple and chin. James's gaze fluttered over her in terrified, troubled panic. He couldn't find it in himself to focus on any particular injury for very long. He only barely managed to glance at the blood leaking down her left leg, dripping over the floor as she dragged herself inside the house, before feeling the treacle tart sitting in his stomach begin to make its way back up. He looked away hurriedly, eyes burning into the floor. He was trapped between stepping forward and running away, paralyzed by the choice, guilt-stricken by the idea that this had only happened to his sister because he hadn't given her the option of coming home. He didn't know what to say, what to do. Each second that ticked by felt like a boulder pressing into his back. He was crushed by his indecision, by his inaction. He should be doing something—anything. He should… He should…

He should have let her in that night. He should have forgiven her. If it meant avoiding this, he should have done it—would have done it.

"Frank, do you want to come in and join our game of—" Sirius stopped just behind James, shocked into silence at the scene playing out in the doorway. But he got over it quickly, and stepped past James, striding forward forcefully. James saw him narrow in on Grace and her companion. Sirius looked back at him, mouth opening, and James was so sure he was going to ask about Grace—ask him what she was doing here, why he was just standing there—but he didn't. Instead, he said, "Is that Regulus?"

"I—I don't know," James said, because he didn't, because he could only see Grace.

Lily was still trying to help Grace stagger her way indoors. "What happened?" she continued to ask.

But Grace merely shook her head, holding onto Regulus as tightly as she could. Lily gave up after the fifth question and focused all her energy into trying to ease the weight of Regulus atop Grace. They hardly made it about a foot further before Sirius blocked their path. Lily looked up at him ludicrously, brows soaring high.

"What are you doing?" Lily asked with searing exasperation.

"You can't just bring them in!" Sirius said, looking just as frustrated. "We don't know if it's really them—"

"What? You think Death Eaters would show up half-dead on our doorstep?"

"I certainly think Death Eaters would show up looking like our half-dead siblings. You know they tried this with the McKinnons, Lily. You know—"

"The wards would have gone off, Sirius!"

"Wards aren't impervious!" He looked to James. "Come on, mate, you know it's only reasonable."

James did, and—crazily—he wanted Sirius to be right. He didn't want this bleeding, broken person on their doorstep to be Grace. It couldn't be Grace, because it would have been his fault if it was. He hadn't given her the option of coming home, so she had been roaming around somewhere else. It would have only been a matter of time before she was ambushed by Death Eaters or Snatchers or someone. If this was Grace, really, truly Grace, then James would have failed. He might as well have hurt her himself.

It took him a moment to ignore the awful crack splitting across his chest, to get his mouth working again. When he did, he addressed Grace directly and asked, "What did you name your owl?"

He ached for a wrong answer. Tell me you don't know. Tell me you can't remember. Tell me it's not you. He wanted this to be a Death Eater, so it wouldn't be Grace. He wanted this to be a Death Eater, so he didn't have to go to St. Mungo's and cry in the waiting room as she was pumped full of potions. He wanted this to be a Death Eater, so he could punish them for showing him his sister like this. His love sat hard and heavy in his chest, a rock rattling in his ribcage. An awful, creeping feeling was trailing up his spine. He was afraid that Grace, if this really was Grace, was too far gone to even understand him. She was leaning more heavily onto Lily than before, swaying unsteadily on the floor. Her blinks were becoming long and drawn, her breathing more labored.

"Never had an owl…" she mumbled eventually. "You got me a toy… Stubby…"

And, just like that, the chasm was back—some wide, aching split tearing through his heart, some unfathomable pain he didn't have the time to devote himself to fully. He catapulted himself forward without another thought to help Grace forward himself.

"Yeah," he said softly, consolingly, like he could fix her with words and memories alone, "It was a toy. Stubby Boardman. He's still—he's still upstairs, you know. Reckon he's lonely in your room…"

Sirius stepped aside without complaint and reached forward to assist with Regulus. Grace's head swung around to him blearily, and James saw a faint spark of resilience flicker in her gaze.

"Careful…" Grace said, voice stronger than before but still strained. Sirius was trying to carry Regulus and lay him on the sofa. "He's…in bad shape…"

"No kidding," Sirius murmured, staring down at his unconscious brother with a strange look in his eye. His face, usually loose and carefree, was drawn and pinched as he took in the terrible gash across Regulus's chest, the deep bruises beginning to form across skin. Under the bright light of the room, the wounds appeared more grievous than ever: a stark streak of hard crimson over a mottled canvas of purples and blues.

Grace tried to move forward without James or Lily's assistance, eager to reach Regulus's side, and ended up crashing to the floor with a shrill cry of pain. James followed her to the floor in an instant, wide-eyed and trembling, as though he'd fallen instead of her. He got an arm around her back, trying to help her up. She managed to get her left leg up, but hissed and fell again when she put pressure on her right. Lily, for the first time, noticed the blood Grace was tracking inside.

"My God," Lily said, horrified. She knelt over Grace. For the millionth time, she asked, "What happened?"

"Splinched," Grace said through clenched teeth. She reached down one trembling hand to hike up her robes, and James recoiled at the sight of the injury: a huge chunk of her right thigh was missing. "Couldn't…focus…"

James kept his gaze downcast. His heart was hammering against his chest in a way it hadn't since the funeral. He'd seen countless injuries before. They were common enough at both the Auror Office and the Order. Every other week, one of his colleagues would walk in sporting a new scar or prosthetic. He should have been used to this. He should be able to stomach this—but he couldn't, not when it was Grace. He could barely stand the sight of her undergoing a paroxysm; how could he see her like this? Leg torn up, arms scratched and bleeding, slipping into unconsciousness. He would rather it him. He would always rather it him.

Lily was examining the wound with a critical eye. "How long have you been like this? If you've lost too much blood, we'll have to administer Blood-Replenishing Potions before dittany, and if—"

"No," Grace protested weakly. "Reg first…"

Lily glanced at Regulus. Her face, already so wrought with worry, collapsed into a mess of frantic emotion as she took in his pale, eerily still state. "What happened to him?"

"Poison…" Grace's eyes fluttered for a moment. James tried to lean her against him to ease some of the burden of sitting up. He tenderly smoothed back her wild hair. "Potion…"

"Poison?" Sirius exclaimed. He pointed at the gaping wound in Regulus's chest. "You mean to tell me that's poisoning?"

"In…feri…"

James's head snapped up to meet Sirius's. He was wearing a similar expression of pure bafflement. Inferi were dark creatures. The only people James knew who would employ the use of such vile creatures were Death Eaters.

"What do you mean 'Inferi'?" James burst. "Where? Were you ambushed? Who did this to you?"

"James, we can't ask these sorts of questions right now," Lily said severely. "She's losing blood. We need to get her to St. Mungo's along with—"

"No…" Grace said. "Not… There…"

"No? Why?" James asked desperately. "You need help, Grace!"

"Bad…"

"What's bad?"

"Dumb…" The rest of her sentence devolved into a faint exhale of breath, and then she was out like a light, sagging against James as she went unconscious.

"Grace," James tried uselessly, giving her shoulder a little shake. "Grace—please, we need some more info—"

"We can find out more later," Lily assured. "We need to heal them first."

"We should go to St. Mungo's," Sirius said. His wand was out, tracing over Regulus's chest. A hazy blue light emanated from the tip. "Fuck… I think he's bleeding internally."

"But Grace said not to," James said, holding his sister tight against him. "I don't know why, but if she said it's bad… She wouldn't just say that."

"We can't just heal them ourselves," Sirius protested. He gestured at Regulus. "This is beyond me!"

James turned to his wife. "You said we just need Blood-Replenishing Potions and dittany, right?"

She was gnawing at her lip, green eyes focused so intently on Grace's wounded leg that it seemed like she was trying to mend it by will alone. "Yeah, we do… But I haven't any stock for Blood-Replenishing Potion. It's my fault. I thought I'd wait until our herbs were grown instead of buying from the shop."

"I can go to Frank and Alice's," Sirius offered immediately. James exhaled in relief. "Moody must have left some provisions."

Lily relaxed. "Yes, that'd be good. And we have dittany in the back garden. The plants are young, but they should still be potent. We can crush it up into a paste; that should help with her leg and his chest. But it won't do any good if they haven't any blood in their system."

"On it," Sirius said, sprinting for the front door.

He left it swinging wide open. James gently lay Grace across the rug, leaning her against the base of the sofa Regulus was resting on, before getting up himself.

"I'll grab the dittany," he told Lily, voice more than a little numb.

Lily nodded absently and moved past him, into the kitchen. She tied back her hair and summoned a large cauldron onto the table. "I'm going to brew a basic antidote—bezoar, unicorn horn, mistletoe berries. All the healthy stuff. That should help with any poisoning. Although…" She cast a long look Regulus's way, still perplexed. "If it's a rare poison, it wouldn't help much…"

"It's worth trying," James said urgently, following after her.

Lily began to summon various ingredients from the cabinets. James slipped past her and swung open the door in the back, which led to the small garden in their backyard. He hurtled forward with reckless abandon, crashing into a small plot of valerian. James crushed the small flowers as he knelt forward, scrambling along the soil for dittany. He'd forgotten his wand back in the living room and had to rely on the sparse light of the moon to guide him. Dirt sprayed all around him. His heart stuttered against his chest. He nearly cried in relief when he caught sight of the slim green shoots spurting from the soil. He didn't know what part of the dittany plant was needed when preparing the paste, so he dug up five of them—roots and all—and cradled them in his arms while darting back indoors.

"Here," he said breathlessly, dropping the plants atop the kitchen table. Soil splattered across his robes and onto the floor.

Lily was already mid-brew, a roaring flame spurting out underneath the cauldron. The concoction she was putting together didn't seem the slightest bit basic to James. He vaguely remembered the antidotes they covered in Potions, and this appeared far more extravagant than anything he had ever seen. Lily had gotten out a bezoar, some unicorn horn shavings, and a few mistletoe berries as she said; but she had also pulled out ginkgo leaves, primrose oil, and a sealed bottle of some sort of deep blue sludge. Rare poison or not, whatever it was Regulus was getting was surely going to help.

"What do I do now?" James asked.

Lily was deeply focused on her stirring. She wordlessly twirled her wand in the air, and a mortar and pestle appeared next to the dittany. "Crush it."

"Roots, too?"

"Yes, everything."

And he set to work. James crammed all five plants into the small stone bowl and began to pummel them. Normally, a physical activity would help relieve some stress. But the pounding of the pestle, the grinding and grating of the leaves, did little to allay his frustration. In fact, it seemed to only add to it. The motion of crushing, the squelching sound as the water-filled roots burst, sounded like injuries to him. More wounds. More hurt. He could not shake the image of Grace's torn leg, the gaping hole, the pool of blood collecting at her feet. How had she walked all the way here from the Apparition spot?

Sirius returned just as the paste was beginning to turn smooth. Lily redirected him to the sitting room, instructing him to pour two doses down each of their gullets. He went off to do just that—and came back only a half-minute later.

"What is it?" Lily asked without looking away from her cauldron.

"Er…" Sirius began unsurely.

James set down his pestle, hand sore. In the mortar was a glossy green mixture of crushed dittany. He scooped up the precious ingredient and locked eyes with Sirius, who was hesitating in the doorway. A still-corked bottle of Blood-Replenishing Potion was clenched tightly in his hand.

James frowned at him. "We don't have time, Sirius. They need—"

"You need to see something," he interrupted.

His voice was so grave, so unlike him, that James felt a shiver go down his spine. Lily broke concentration over her potion as well, turning to stare at Sirius quizzically.

"What is it?" she asked again.

Sirius merely shook his head. "You need to see."

Lily, seeming to think another, even worse injury had appeared on Grace and Regulus's bodies, laid down her ladle and dashed past Sirius into the sitting room. James was right on her heels, if only to get this dittany to Grace and heal that leg of hers. Sirius followed after them morbidly, and when Lily simply stood in the sitting room, dumbstruck because she couldn't see anything obviously wrong (or, rather, even more wrong), Sirius walked past her and lifted Regulus's left arm. Stamped into his forearm was the Dark Mark.

James's grip around the dittany tripled in strength. His heartache and grief were replaced by an overwhelming wave of rage. Of course. Now it all made sense. Grace had gotten hurt because of Regulus. This was her best friend—or was—and she had found out, somewhere along Easter, that he was a Death Eater. A duel had ensued, and now she was hurt because of him. But she'd still managed to subdue him and bring him here. She'd never said to help Regulus; she'd only said, Reg first. She had likely meant they ought to get Regulus to an Auror Office to be revived and interrogated before anything else. That's why she hadn't wanted to go to St. Mungo's. Regulus didn't deserve St. Mungo's. He deserved a jail cell in Azkaban—perhaps even worse. For endangering Grace, there had to be something worse.

"And look," Sirius said solemnly, dropping Regulus's hand and kneeling next to Grace. He lifted her arm, and inked into her left forearm as well, for all the world to see, was another Dark Mark.

James dropped the dittany. The mortar crashed against the floor, spilling some of the paste onto the carpet.

"What?" he wheezed.

Silence met his gasp. For one long moment, all that existed was silence. It felt like death, this silence, because that was what James was witnessing. A death. His sister was dead, must be dead, because the girl in front of him now could not be Grace Potter. This person may look like Grace and talk like Grace and call herself Grace, but it wasn't Grace. No Grace he knew would join a group so wicked. No Grace he knew would harbor such hate in her heart. No Grace he knew would hurt him this deeply. It simply wasn't possible. None of this made sense. None of it would ever, ever make sense.

Lily broke the silence first.

"Give me that," she said, grabbing the Blood-Replenishing Potion from Sirius's hand. She uncorked it in one swift motion and tipped it back into Regulus's mouth. The potion traveled smoothly down his gullet. When she was done with him, she moved on to Grace. "I can only assume they've defected, and the others didn't take it very well—"

"Defected?" Sirius repeated. "They'd be dead if they defected, Lily. They probably had a fun night torturing Muggles until Aurors arrived. Probably got hit a few times and came here, hoping James might help—"

"If they were injured and still on good terms with other Death Eaters, wouldn't they have gone to them to be healed?" Lily argued. "Listen, we don't have the full picture and I don't know your brother, but I do know Grace, and I don't think she'd be gallivanting with Death Eaters."

"You don't think so? Did you forget what she called you at the funeral?"

"I didn't, thank you very much," she snapped. "I can't deny the Dark Mark on their arms, but if they've left, Sirius, if they've realized the error of their ways—"

"But we don't know if they've done either of those things!"

"We still can't leave them to die, Sirius!"

"I'm not saying we should let them die! We should take them to St. Mungo's and—"

"You know what'll happen to them if we take them to St. Mungo's."

Sirius swallowed thickly. "We're not responsible for their mistakes."

"We don't know what their mistakes are yet."

"But—"

"Stop," James croaked out. "Both of you just—please stop."

Sirius gave him an alarmed look. He seemed ready to speak again, perhaps to say that now was definitely not the moment to stop anything, but Lily levied a look so severe and sharp his way that he closed his lips again.

"Here's what we're going to do," James continued shakily. His eyes wavered back to Grace's unconscious body without his telling them to, traveling down to the Dark Mark stamped against her forearm. He could see, now, that there was a terrible gash across it, a deep cut of her flesh that almost obscured the skull and snake from view. Had she done that to herself? Had she truly tried to defect? James didn't know, couldn't tell. "We're going to apply the dittany. We're going to take their wands. We're going to tie them up. You two will watch them here, and I'll go get Dumbledore. And we'll figure it out from there."

Lily and Sirius glanced at each other unsurely.

"Mate," Sirius began, "maybe we should get some backup, too—"

"No," James said immediately. "No—we're getting Dumbledore. Just Dumbledore." Because if anyone could get his little sister out of this awful, horrible nightmare she'd gotten herself stuck in, it was Dumbledore. "Is he at the Longbottoms' now? Did you see him, Sirius?"

He shook his head. "No, it was just Frank and Alice. Everyone'd gone home. He's probably back at Hogwarts now."

"Okay," James said. He tried to calm the tight swirl of apprehension in his stomach, but couldn't. "I'll go get him. Till then… Please—please—just keep them here. Tied up. Lily…"

She put a hand against his arm. Her eyes were soft and tender. "I won't let anything happen to her. We'll figure this out. You go get Dumbledore, okay?"

He nodded. His head felt heavy. He tore out of the house, making a dash for the spot of hydrangea just beyond the wards. He just needed to get Dumbledore. He just needed Dumbledore to fix this, somehow. Somehow… There had to be a way to fix it, but the empty, sinking feeling that was swallowing James's heart made him think otherwise, made him think that there was no fixing this. That everything was broken, and it had been for a while now. He'd only been foolish enough to believe it wasn't.

---

As soon as James was beyond the anti-Apparition wards, he vanished and landed directly in the Honeydukes cellar. He tugged at the entrance to the tunnel but found it sealed. Panic and frustration blended together. James had never felt more on edge, more terrified. In the span of one hour, his whole world had come crashing down. With great difficulty, he managed to focus for a moment and realized the spell blocking his way into Hogwarts was a variant of the sealing charm he had come up with Sirius and Grace one summer. He undid it quickly after that, and raced into the tunnel recklessly. He didn't even bother to light his wand as he ran. Every second he had was precious. Every second he had was devoted to Grace, to getting her out of this mess, this nightmare.

James emerged from the other side in a deserted Hogwarts hallway. He darted to the Headmaster's Office, struggling to remember the password as he sprinted forward. Vance and Moody had been giving it out to Order members since the beginning of the year, in case anything happened that might warrant Dumbledore's immediate attention. James had never had to visit Dumbledore privately, so he'd paid little attention to the passwords given out. All he could recall was that this month's password was some sweet Remus liked.

"Chocolate!" James shouted at the gargoyle step that guarded Dumbledore's office.

The gargoyle, who had been dozing off, awoke with a start. "Huh? What? Who are you? What's going on?"

"I've got to get up!" James cried out. "I've got to see Dumbledore—open up!"

"I need a password—"

"Chocolate!"

"Stop yelling!"

"Open the door!"

"I can't! That's not the password!"

"Fucking—chocolate frog! Chocolate egg! Chocolate wand!" James racked his brain desperately. What other chocolate things existed? Why did Dumbledore have to send Remus so far away? Where James couldn't hear about all the chocolate sweets he liked? "Shock-o-Choc! Chocolate liqueur!"

"You're absolutely mad," the gargoyle gasped.

"Someone's in trouble!" James roared. "I need to go up! Let me up!"

"I'm bound by magic—I literally can't!"

James could hear someone frantically coming down the hall, perhaps a professor or Prefect who'd heard the commotion he was making. Every nerve in him was lit with hysteria. He couldn't get dragged into an argument with some ignorant professor or know-it-all Prefect. He needed to get up to Dumbledore, and he needed to get there now.

He pointed his wand at the gargoyle.

"You can't kill me," it scoffed.

"Tell me the password!"

"I can't."

"This is an emergency!"

"I don't make the rules."

"Who's down there?" a groggy voice called from the dark end of the corridor. "Who's shouting?"

James turned back to the gargoyle desperately. "You can't expect me to keep guessing. It really is an emergency. It—it's my sister." His voice was thick and choked. He could barely get the next few words out: "She's in trouble."

"I can't let you up without a password," the gargoyle said softly. "But you're close. It's got chocolate for sure. It's just not in the traditional square shape. It's round—"

"Chocoball!" James said immediately.

The gargoyle swung open, and James dashed up the set of spiral stairs without a second thought. His feet thundered as he made his way up. His heart seemed to rattle in his chest as he took each step. He burst into Dumbledore's office like a madman—hair unkempt and flurried, glasses slightly askew, the edge of his robes stained with dirt and Grace's blood.

Dumbledore wasn't alone in here. Vance was sitting across from him, seemingly in the middle of a pleasant conversation. But the lighthearted atmosphere vanished as soon as they heard James's clumsy entrance. Vance jumped up and flung out her wand, faltering when she realized it wasn't an intruder. Shock passed over Dumbledore's face but he remained composed behind his desk, turning to face James expectantly.

"Sir," James gasped out, ignoring Vance completely. He staggered as he looked at Dumbledore. He felt as though his chest were caving in. "Sir—I—you've got to come to our cottage! Something—something's happened. It's my sister—"

"Your sister?" Dumbledore repeated with clear surprise.

James swallowed thickly. "Yes—she… She Apparated to Godric's Hollow with Sirius's brother. They're both unconscious. Sirius and Lily are watching them. And they—they—" the Dark Mark flashed in James's head, the cut of Grace's wound over it, jagged and cruel, "—they're in some sort of trouble. I don't know exactly what."

A grave expression fell over Dumbledore. He rose from his chair and looked to Vance, who appeared similarly stony-faced.

"One week," Vance muttered, gathering her cloak from the back of the chair she'd been sitting in. "I told her to keep her head low for one bloody week—"

"It may be more serious than a simple altercation, Emmeline," Dumbledore said solemnly. "This, in addition to what Alastor has informed me of, does not bode well. They may have been found out."

Vance cursed under her breath. "I'll gather reinforcements. They might have been followed."

Dumbledore nodded. "Gather only a few, the most trusted. The Longbottoms and Prewetts should suffice. If this is the leak's doing, we cannot risk revealing any information. They may have intended for Grace and Regulus to die, and they are not yet dead."

"Understood," Vance said. "Send me a Patronus call if we're needed, and we'll Apparate right over. Potter Cottage, right? Where is that?"

She directed the last question to James, who could do nothing more than simply stare at the two of them, mouth agape. What in Merlin's name were they talking about? Gathering reinforcements? His sister being followed? Someone intending to kill her?

"Wh—what—?" he began succinctly.

"Yes, Potter Cottage," Dumbledore responded for him. "It is in Godric's Hollow."

Vance nodded sharply and stepped into the fireplace, disappearing in a puff of Floo powder. James turned his full attention to Dumbledore, staring up at the old wizard helplessly.

"What's going on?" he asked weakly.

Dumbledore ignored the question. "The Floo has been turned off at your cottage, correct?"

"Y—yes, but there's a tunnel that leads from here to Honeydukes. We can Apparate from there back to the cottage."

"Let us go, then," Dumbledore said, rushing forward. "Time is of the essence."

James followed him, heart hammering, mind spinning. At the base of the staircase, a Prefect was asking the gargoyle step if it had seen the person who'd been shouting wildly about chocolate. Dumbledore quickly explained away the situation and sent the Prefect off, allowing James to lead him to the tunnel entrance without any further disturbances. With swift steps and trembling hands, James guided Dumbledore forward. He glanced at Dumbledore frequently, wondering how to phrase the questions that ran through his mind, wondering how to ease Dumbledore into the fact his sister was a Death Eater.

"Sir," he tried as they entered the tunnel that led to Honeydukes, "what did you mean earlier? When you said 'they may have been found out'?"

"I presume you are now aware your sister and Sirius's brother are Death Eaters?" Dumbledore responded coolly.

James choked on nothing but air. "I—She—but—"

"Do not worry. It is not real."

"Not…real…?" James wheezed out.

"We have been receiving intel on Voldemort's activities for some time now. Have you ever wondered how?"

A painful truth was dawning on James. "You don't mean…"

"Grace and Regulus are spies. They are not on Voldemort's side. They are on ours."

Relief should have filled him, but there was none. Just a cold, empty feeling that washed over him.

"Vance knew, too?" James asked numbly.

"Yes, she has been mentoring Grace these past few months."

Hurt slid into him easily: aching, festering. So, Vance had simply lied to him earlier, then. She'd been perfectly aware of Grace's existence—more than her existence, actually. She'd probably known everything there was to know about Grace: where she was, who she was with, what she was doing. And she kept all that information from him. All James had wanted was a scrap, just a scrap. All he wanted to know was if Grace was okay.

"Someone should have told me," he said, suddenly finding it very difficult to keep his tone even. "I'm her brother. What if something had gone wrong? What if—sod it, something has gone wrong! And she didn't go to you or Vance or anyone else. She came to me! And I should have been prepared, but no one bothered to tell me!"

Dumbledore looked at him with something like pity. James recoiled. He didn't want pity. He didn't want empty apologies. He didn't want compassion or understanding. He didn't care about himself. In this moment, he only cared about Grace—and Grace was hurt. But she shouldn't have been. She shouldn't have been, and James knew—he just knew, and he was almost certain Dumbledore knew, too—that if someone had just told him, Grace wouldn't have been hurt at all.

"Ideally, you would have been informed," Dumbledore explained. "But with the current state of the Order, the leaks—"

"And you think I have anything to do with that?" James snarled.

"We couldn't be certain of anyone."

"Well, you can be certain now. I'm not Voldemort's spy—though, strangely, I suddenly wish I were. I would've known, then." James's jaw was tight. He looked at Dumbledore unfalteringly. "It doesn't look good, does it, when Death Eaters know more about what the Order is up to than actual Order members."

"I do not wish to argue with you, James. You must understand that Grace was in less danger when no one knew of her position in the Order."

"You come to Potter Cottage and look at the state she's in and tell me she was in less danger." His voice trembled. "You come and look at her and tell me none of this could have been avoided if I had been told—"

"You know as well as anyone that this is war. There is a certain risk involved in everything. Sacrifices must be made." Dumbledore let out a quiet sigh. "I am loathe to use the phrase, but we must consider the greater good—"

"Do not—" James began, "—do not talk about my sister like she's cannon fodder. I…" His throat was closing in. A familiar burn began to prick the corners of his eyes. He looked away from Dumbledore hastily and started forward. "We're going to the cottage, and you're going to help her. And after this is all over, if she doesn't want to do this anymore—and I doubt she will, because she can barely walk right now—she won't. She won't spy for you. I don't care how desperate you are, how badly the Order is faring. Grace isn't a pawn to be sacrificed. She isn't a tool to be used and discarded. And I… I don't want to argue with you either, sir, but you have to understand this. That's my sister you sent straight into Voldemort's den. That's my sister. You've no idea… You've no idea what it's like to nearly lose your sister."

A steely silence settled between them. For a moment, there was no sound but the quiet clack of their footsteps.

"No," Dumbledore said at last, a touch of grief lacing his voice, "I do not know what it is like to nearly lose a sister."

---

Neither James nor Dumbledore exchanged another word with each other as they returned to Potter Cottage. James strode down the familiar path that led to his house, each step burning with fervor and love. He kicked the front door open and ran down the hall, where he could hear a now conscious, very distraught Grace arguing fiercely with Sirius and Lily.

"Give it back!" she cried out, voice choked and wet. "Just—give me my wand—you don't understand—"

"Grace," Lily tried to console, "I can't do that just yet. We're waiting—"

James marched into the sitting room. He grabbed Grace's wand from the mantle atop the fireplace and tossed it to her. Lily's voice died in her throat. Sirius stared up at him in shock.

"They're not Death Eaters," was all James could manage to say.

"See?" Grace said. She held her wand tightly in her hands and moved closer to Regulus, who was still lying unconscious on the sofa. The pale green dittany paste that James had crushed had been slathered across his chest and seemed to have healed it greatly. He was no longer bleeding out, and the wound appeared to have closed now.

"What do you mean?" Lily asked.

At the same time, Sirius began, "How could—"

"It's true," Dumbledore said, coming in through the archway of the sitting room. He cast one long look around the room before settling his heavy gaze on Grace and Regulus.

"Oh, hello," Grace said in a small voice. "So…how are you, sir?"

Dumbledore sighed.

"Wait, hold on," Sirius protested. "Can someone explain to me what's going on?"

"Grace and Regulus have been spying for the Order for some time now," Dumbledore explained patiently. "Though it may seem they have joined Voldemort, they have not."

"What?" Sirius said in shock. His eyes lingered on Regulus for a moment. "But what about—"

"Sirius, I believe our time would be better served helping Grace and Regulus."

"Right, of course," he said straight away, stepping aside.

Lily summoned the tin of treacle tart from the kitchen along with a fork and set it down gently in front of Grace. "Here, you should eat. Potions can only do so much on their own."

Grace glanced up at her. "Thanks," she said hoarsely.

"Were you found out?" Dumbledore asked as Grace aimlessly scratched the tines of her fork against the tart.

"No," Grace answered.

"No one is after you?" Dumbledore clarified. There was a hint of surprise in his voice.

She shook her head. "We're safe."

This was another moment when, perhaps, relief was supposed to fill James but didn't. If this was safe, what was dangerous?

"Then what precisely happened that—"

Grace shook her head and pushed aside the tin of barely-touched treacle tart. "I won't answer anything more until you look at Regulus. We went to You-Know-Who's murder cave—the one from my vision, Vance must have told you—and there was a potion there. And he drank it. And… And I don't know what it does, but it wasn't anything good. It was torturing him, making him…not himself." Grace's voice was tight and distraught. "And then there were Inferi, too…"

"We've healed the physical wounds," Lily assured. "And I gave Regulus a generic antidote, which should hopefully help."

"You should still take a look at him," Grace told Dumbledore. "He—shouldn't he be awake by now?"

Dumbledore was examining Regulus very carefully. He took his wand out and began to wave it over the young wizard's body. A light blue haze emanated from the end of the wand. Grace's pained gaze was stuck on Regulus. James watched her silently, achingly. The ten-month age difference between them never felt less small, less untrue. In suffering, in pain and patience, Grace was much, much older than him. She always had been. Looking at her now, he could not help but feel ashamed. He could not help but feel stupid. He should have realized sooner. He should have connected the dots. This was Grace—Grace who was rarely assigned detention for her pranks because although everyone knew it was her, there was never any proof to be definitive about it. This was the Grace who bent over backward to track down Andromeda Black simply because her best friend was worried—and, against all odds, she did. This was the Grace who managed to hide her Sorting from their parents for two whole months, who somehow snuck into the Gryffindor tower every other week without an invisibility cloak, who was reckless, yes, but also deeply determined and frighteningly clever and fiercely loyal, too.

After a tense minute or two, Dumbledore's hand retreated and he pocketed his wand. "This potion is a unique concoction of Voldemort's making. From what you have described and what I can examine, it appears the potion can only weaken its drinker—not kill him."

"He won't die?" Grace said. Her voice was hard and unflinching.

"No, he will not."

A collective sigh of relief was released.

"Now," Dumbledore said, sitting back down, "shall we begin with what exactly happened to the two of you?"

"We stole something," Grace said.

"What?"

"A…" she hesitated, "…a piece of You-Know-Who's soul."

Lily's brows shot up. Sirius began to cough suddenly. James thought he might have been more shocked if this news hadn't been preceded by his double-agent sister showing up on his doorstep half-dead.

Dumbledore, for whatever reason, accepted this without question. "I see," he said slowly. "And where is it now?"

A crease appeared between Grace's brows. She turned towards Regulus. "It should be with him. It's a locket."

Lily and Sirius glanced at each other.

"There was nothing on him," Sirius said. "Not even a wand."

"What?!" Grace cried out. "I lost his wand—"

"That's all right," James said immediately. "We can always get him a new one—"

"No, it's not!" she said, pressing the hilt of her palms against her eyes. "Fucking—everything went wrong—with the potion, and then Kreacher—"

"Kreacher?" Sirius repeated with confusion.

"—and then my stupid Seer's snag—"

"Seer's snag?" Lily murmured.

"—and then the Inferi dragged him under, and then—and then I lost Vance's Portkey—"

She seemed close to bursting into tears. James settled down beside her and said, in as calm and tender a voice as he could, "Hey, we'll figure it out. You say it all went wrong, but you're here and so is he, and you're both alive. That's all that really matters now."

She looked up at him with watery eyes and nodded stiffly.

"Grace," Dumbledore intoned, "if this locket is not with Regulus, then where is it now? If it is indeed what you say, we must transfer it to safe hands immediately."

"I think…" Her voice was so tired, so strained and shadowed. James's eyes flickered to the tin of untouched treacle tart. "No, it wasn't Reg. He was too out of it—"

"You don't have to answer any of that now," James said firmly. He looked to Dumbledore. "You can come back later, when she's well and when Regulus is conscious again, and ask all the questions you need to ask then."

Dumbledore glanced at him with a hint of surprise. "It is difficult to recall moments of hardship, I am well aware, but from what little I have gathered, the situation is urgent—"

James looked at Grace. "Is it urgent?"

"No," she said wearily. "We're not in danger or anything. It can wait, and, honestly, it would be best if Regulus woke up first. He's the one who figured it out."

"There you have it," James said, turning back to Dumbledore. "It can wait."

"Forgive me if I seem more than a little unbelieving," Dumbledore said calmly. "Two of our spies—our only spies—have appeared in the middle of the night at death's door. We must take precautions—"

"She's not your spy. She's my sister, and until she's better—until she's not on the verge of exhaustion—we won't hear a word of what's happened. It's not urgent. We can wait."

Genuine love and protectiveness flowed from James, but there was also a sliver of spite aimed for Dumbledore. And the old wizard seemed to have caught onto it, because he leveled James with a grim look and said, "There may be much at stake here. It could be the difference of one night that leads to Voldemort's downfall."

James didn't give a damn. Voldemort could host a party for all he cared. His sister was going to rest.

Dumbledore continued, "If there are Death Eaters on their trail—"

"If there are Death Eaters coming, we'll be prepared. We can form a small guard. They might suspect Grace of coming here, so we'll have to move elsewhere. We can call Peter and the Longbottoms to—"

"No!" Grace cried out. She jolted up and staggered into James's side. "You can't! Merlin—there was just so much. I forgot. There is something urgent."

Dumbledore's sharp eyes immediately went to Grace. "Yes?"

"You should sit down," James said softly, guiding her to the armchair. "Don't excite yourself."

"The leak!" Grace said. Though it was Dumbledore asking for further information, her eyes were trained on James. "We found out who the leak was. It was only a day or so ago. You-Know-Who called an impromptu meeting, but it was a private one. Only his most trusted Death Eaters were present. And Lestrange—Rabastan Lestrange—brought out their spy. He'd been the one to recruit the spy, you see, and… And… Oh, James…"

"You don't have to say anymore if you don't want to," James said, startled by the flurry of words that fell from Grace's mouth. He was worried she might over-exert herself. "We can figure it out ourselves if it's urgent."

"No, it's… It's Peter."

He frowned. "What's Peter?"

"Peter is the leak. He's been spying for Lestrange."

James could do nothing but stare. He was so exhausted, so gutted. There was nothing left in him to summon a visceral reaction. He could only look at Grace helplessly. Some absurd, sarcastic part of himself began to wonder what else could possibly go wrong, how many more life-changing secrets were waiting to pounce on him? He quickly shut down the thought process. He couldn't bear to even imagine anymore betrayal. If just one more shocking piece of information were revealed to him, he was almost certain he'd have a heart attack.

"What?!" Sirius said. The word fell from his mouth like the crack of a whip. "What do you mean he's been spying? For Lestrange? He—he wouldn't even be able to make eye contact with Lestrange, let alone… No, hold on… This—"

"It is unfortunate," Dumbledore said. "But it does not fall outside of the realm of possibility. It was Peter, was it not, who had a run-in with the Lestranges shortly after we founded the Order?"

"And we've always underestimated him," Lily said quietly. "We assume he hasn't any nerve and we take the mickey out of him for it, but… When it comes down to it, isn't that the best cover someone could have?"

"Yeah, but—but—" Sirius spluttered uselessly. He looked back to Grace. "Did you actually see Peter, or did Lestrange just say that?"

"Yes," she insisted. "They didn't refer to him as Peter, though. They came up with a codename for him. Wormtail, they called him."

Sirius collapsed to the floor. He sunk his face into his hands.

"Oh, dear…" Lily said. Her eyes lingered on James for a moment before returning to Grace. "That's not a name the Death Eaters came up with."

Grace's brow creased slightly. "But then…?"

"It's what James, Sirius, and Remus call Peter," Lily explained.

Grace didn't quite seem to understand, though she didn't say anything immediately. James, of course, had never told her about the Animagi pact he and his friends had formed in their youth. He had wanted to, sometime after they had succeeded transforming consistently but before he and Lily had gotten together, but Sirius had been against it. It was after Sirius had run away from home, and he and Grace were at constant odds. Despite all of James's assurances, Sirius had been afraid Grace might tell Regulus. And since it was everyone or no one—because the chief rule of the Marauders had always been loyalty—James didn't breathe a word to Grace.

Until now.

"We're Animagi," James said, voice hollow. This was the least startling revelation of the night, and no one seemed particularly surprised by it. Lily already knew. Dumbledore seemed to have more important things on his mind. Grace appeared too exhausted to really process the significance of this claim. "Sirius, Peter, and I… We started the transformation around second year, but only succeeded in fifth. We gave ourselves nicknames related to our forms. I'm a stag, so we went with Prongs. Sirius is a dog, so we call him Padfoot. And Peter…"

He couldn't even get it out. His voice died out as he thought of Peter. He couldn't find it in himself to be upset or hurt. He had let out the worst of his emotions already, with Grace. Now, he was just world-worn, weary to the bone.

"Peter is a rat," Sirius spat, raising his head for the first time. His face was shadowed with fury. "His form is a rat because he is a rat. We called him Wormtail. And if that's the name Lestrange is using, then it can only be Peter."

Sirius rose silently and marched out of the room. James stared after him absently.

"Sirius?" Lily called out with concern. When she didn't get a response, she poked her head out of the sitting room and looked down the hallway. "He, er, left."

"He's going after him, isn't he?" James sighed.

"It's certainly not the worst idea," Dumbledore said. "Why don't you accompany him? I daresay you are just about the only person who can keep his temper in check. If you're able to find Peter, bring him to Vance. She's already gathered at the Longbottoms' with a few Order members who are more than capable of keeping an eye on him right now."

James knew this was Dumbledore's way of getting him to stop disrupting his conversation with Grace. But he also knew that if he didn't catch up with Sirius, Peter would be dead before morning broke.

"All right," he agreed. He looked at Grace and Lily. "I'll be right back."

"Okay," Grace murmured.

Lily gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as he passed through.

When James reached the archway, he glanced back at Dumbledore and said, "Look, just give her a moment to eat, all right?"

With that, he hurtled down the hall and out of the house, quickly catching up with Sirius, who was angrily stalking through the town.

"We're supposed to bring him to the Longbottoms'," James panted as he reached Sirius's side.

"Good," Sirius bit.

They Apparated together and appeared just a few feet short of the house. The night air was cool and still. The Pettigrew's home was a small one, a simple two-bedroom with a thatched roof. There was a planter attached to the front window, from which begonias were slowly coming to bloom. James and Sirius strode up to the front door. James didn't know exactly what time it was. It hadn't been very late when Grace came to the cottage, but the events of the past hour or so had dragged on for so long, had been so momentous and heart-stopping, that he felt like it was nearing morning. He knocked on the front door, and was surprised when he got an answer. Peter's mother opened the door, a cup of hot cocoa clutched tightly in her hands.

"Oh!" she said in surprise, looking between Sirius and James. "I don't recall you two ever stopping by so late. At least, Peter didn't mention anything…"

"It's an emergency," James said with absolutely no emotion in his voice. "Is Peter here?"

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Pettigrew said worriedly. "I'll call him down, then."

She retreated indoors. After a moment or so, Peter appeared in the doorway, a sleepy yawn stuck to his lips. He was wearing a pair of striped pajamas. His wand was sticking out of his pocket.

"What is it?" he asked with heavy confusion.

"There's an emergency," James said. "We have to meet with the rest of the Order at the Longbottoms'."

"Er—okay," Peter said, and began to follow them out.

The wards cast around Peter's house didn't stretch beyond the front yard. They had only just stepped past the gate when Peter stopped and looked at James and Sirius for a moment. He'd caught onto the fact that something wasn't quite right. Sirius wasn't making any conversation. James didn't seem at all eager to be heading out on Order business. James could see the realization working across Peter's face, the flicker of hesitation, the careful poise of his legs—ready to run at any moment. Peter was a spineless scoundrel, yes, but he wasn't an idiot.

"What's the emergency?" Peter asked, glancing between them. "You didn't mention."

Sirius didn't say anything. His rage was thinly veiled. He seemed to be struggling to keep himself from shouting. James wanted to say something, anything to keep the scene going, to just hand off Peter to Vance and return home, but there was nothing he could think of. He was at a loss, worn to the very bone. They all simply stared at each other for a moment.

"What's the emergency?" Peter asked again.

He was beginning to back away. Sirius followed him step for step.

James rubbed his forehead wearily. "Why'd you do it, Peter?"

"Do what?" he said nervously.

"You know. You know what you did."

Understanding leaked into Peter's eyes. He tried to Apparate, but Sirius and James were close enough to grab onto him before he vanished. They wound through the atmosphere together, compressed and crushed as Peter led them forward. There was a brief moment, a flash of fresh air, where James caught sight of a stately manor and a white peacock—and then Peter pulled them away again, far away from Voldemort's hideout. They warped through the air for a long while. Peter was trying to shake them off with sharp turns and disorienting routes, but James and Sirius held on steadfastly.

Finally, he seemed to give up and landed them in a large, empty field. They were halfway up a hill, the whole of it covered in lean, tall grass that swayed steadily in the wind. James lost his grip on Peter's cloak and fell roughly in the dirt as Peter pulled to a stop. Sirius, who was clinging tightly to Peter, threw back a fist and punched him.

"You traitor!" Sirius spat. "We trusted you! We—"

Peter scampered back, trying to rush away. James pulled himself up and began to chase after him, Sirius right by his side. They pulled both their wands out. Sirius shot a bolt of orange light from his wand. Peter jumped to the side, just narrowing avoiding the spell, but he didn't land. He began to transform in midair, his body becoming slighter and smaller, the space between himself and the ground becoming longer and greater. Panic buzzed through James, lighting every fiber of his body. Peter had always been the stealthiest among them as Animagi. There had been several occasions when they had lost track of Peter entirely while accompanying Remus to the Whomping Willow. If he transformed now, it was almost guaranteed James and Sirius would never find him again.

But Sirius didn't share this worry. Fury lit his every step as he bounded ahead. He flung out his wand and roared, "ACCIO RAT!"

The Summoning Spell was rarely used on a physical being, since the speed by which the spell pulled the target could hurt it tremendously—but Sirius wanted to hurt Peter tremendously. Peter, now a small, frantically squeaking rat, flew into Sirius's open hand. Sirius jabbed his wand against Peter's back and forced him to transform back. Peter quickly outgrew the confines of Sirius's hand, and once he was back at his full height, he rammed his head against Sirius's stomach, knocking him down. But before Peter could make a run for it again, James leapt forward and pinned him to the ground, his forearm pressed against the base of Peter's throat. Peter's breaths came out uneven, staggered, afraid. His eyes went wide with terror, pale irises flitting around the clearing for some way out, some chance at escape. James watched him steadily. He had his wand in his other hand, but he couldn't bring himself to press it against Peter's heart.

"You," James began, heartbroken. When he looked at Peter, he didn't see a traitor. He didn't see a spy. He didn't even see his old friend. He saw Peter for what he was: a boy, an eleven-year-old child, trailing after the biggest bully in the schoolyard. It astounded him that he hadn't seen it sooner. It worried him that he hadn't realized it faster. "All this time, you…"

"James," Peter wept pitifully, "James, there was nothing I could do! You don't understand. You don't understand the sort of power they possess. You can't say no! You can't refuse—you can't—"

"You can. You just chose not to."

"No, no, you don't understand—" something in him lit, and he pressed onward frantically, wildly, "—your sister couldn't either! She's one of them, too! She betrayed you, too!"

He said it as though it might get him out of trouble, if Grace had done it, too. Or perhaps he had simply hoped that James would be so jarred and jolted by this news that he'd let go. Whatever reaction it was Peter wanted, he didn't get it. As quickly and easily as that heartache had settled into James's heart, it vanished, replaced by a wave of burning, scorching love.

"Don't talk about my sister! She's better than you in every way—braver than you, truer than—"

"She's a Death Eater!" Peter screeched in disbelief. "She—"

"SHUT UP!" James boomed. Every part of him trembled with rage, with love. His hand moved almost of its own accord, and the tip of his wand pressed against Peter's jugular, shutting him up instantly. "She's never betrayed me in my life, not even when I deserved it, not even when I was awful to her, not even when I closed the door on her. You, on the other hand—we helped you when you needed it, we trusted you without fail, we… We were your friends, Peter! More than friends! We were your brothers! How could you do this?"

"What would you have had me do?" Peter cried out in anguish. "What could I have done? They were going to kill me!"

Sirius had risen. He loomed over them. "Then you should have died—died rather than betray your friends." He raised his wand and pointed it directly at Peter's head. "Petrificus Totalus!"

Peter yelped and transformed into a rat once more, avoiding the spell and causing James to lose his grip on him. Peter scurried through the tall blades of grass while James hurried to catch up. Before Sirius could summon him again, Peter returned to his human shape. He raised his wand and called out a spell that James didn't recognize. A thick, dark fog began to expel from his wand, washing over the field, obscuring him from sight. James squinted through the darkness. He waded through the smoke, trying to catch sight of Peter's form.

He pointed his wand in the direction he'd last seen Peter, and yelled the first spell that came to mind: "Diffindo!"

A sharp cry was heard. Then, an ear-splitting crack! And then, nothing at all.

"Sirius?" James called out uselessly. "Are you there?"

"Yeah," he coughed out. "Hold on."

He began to clear away the smoke. When the last of it wafted away, James found that Sirius was a good few meters away from him and examining something in the ground. He jogged over quickly.

"Did I—" James stooped over and caught his breath, "—get him?"

Sirius nudged something with his foot. He stared down curiously at the soil. "You got something."

"What do you mean?" He joined Sirius's side and followed his line of sight. Nestled among the lean blades of grass was a bloodied stub of flesh. "Merlin—what's that?"

"Peter's pinkie."

James kicked it away and collapsed onto the ground, cradling his head in his hands. "I didn't want his pinkie. I wanted him. Where do you suppose he Apparated to?"

"His master, I bet," Sirius sneered. "Probably learned that spell from his master, too."

James lifted his aching head, tipping his face to catch the dark as it grew ever larger. "Dumbledore isn't going to be very happy about this…"

"No," Sirius agreed, "but what did he expect to happen? Did he think we'd calmly bring Peter to the manor? I was about to throttle him the moment he showed his face."

"Yeah," James said emptily.

They stayed quiet for a moment. Sirius sat down beside James. A gentle wind washed over them. The grass at their feet tickled their ankles.

"What an awful day," Sirius said.

"Yeah."

"I wish I had a Time-Turner."

James wished he had one, too. He wished he could restart his life. He wished he could have been kinder sooner, shrewder faster. What was his problem, exactly? Did he trust too hard? Did he love too well?

"I shouldn't have left him behind." Sirius's voice had lost its hard edge. He stared straight ahead, face sullen and sad. "If I'd known it would end like this…"

James didn't need to ask who he was talking about. "You couldn't have known."

Sirius shrugged. "I'd hoped he wasn't."

"What?"

"Regulus. I'd hoped he wasn't actually one of them. I know Dumbledore said he's not, but the timeline doesn't match exactly. I heard rumors of Regulus joining Voldemort months before we started getting insight into his plans, which means… There was some time, however brief, when Regulus was actually a Death Eater—and I… I just… I'd hoped I was wrong."

James frowned. "But you were the only one who actually believed it before. You'd been saying he was—"

"I know! I know what I said, but—" he swallowed thickly, "—but it was just something to say, you know? Like—I was giving a reason without giving a reason."

James didn't understand, and, if he were being honest, he didn't want to understand. His mind was ringing with the events of the past few hours. He wanted to Apparate home, collapse into bed, maybe cry into his pillow if there was any time for it, and go to sleep. But he knew this wasn't possible. He knew he would be swiftly interrogated by Dumbledore on Peter's whereabouts the moment he stepped foot in the cottage. He knew he'd have to speak to Grace and fix their fraught relationship before it got any worse. And he knew there was no chance in hell he'd actually be able to sleep tonight—not when his heart was beating as fast as it was, not when Peter's severed finger lay a few feet away from him, not when the Dark Mark was still stamped onto his sister's arm.

He let out a lengthy sigh. "What're you getting at?"

"I didn't want Regulus to be a Death Eater—not really—because I knew if it turned out he was, it'd be my fault." Sirius's eyes turned skyward, stuck on the looming moon. "I kept saying he was because I thought it'd excuse me. Like, 'Yeah, my little brother's a Death Eater. That's why I left him in that house. That's why I didn't take him with me.' But that's not it. I left him there, and then he became a Death Eater. I left him, and Mother and Father finally broke him down, and he cracked. It's my fault—and… And… I really wanted it to not be my fault."

"Mate…"

"I didn't want to leave him there." Sirius's voice was rife with regret and despair. "But I didn't know how to make him come with me. I know he's my brother, but sometimes… Sometimes, I just don't know him. I wanted to go, and I didn't know how to make him come along, so I went myself. I just thought of myself. That's all I knew to think of back then."

"I know, Sirius, I know."

James had heard this many, many times before. Sirius had told him all of it. Why can't Regulus just lie? he would ask. Why can't he just stand up for himself? Why can't he tell Mother she's wrong? Why can't he tell Father to leave him alone? Why can't he tell them no? Why can't he be brave?

Contrary to popular opinion, people were not simply born brave. Bravery was built. Sirius had nursed courage in his heart all through his childhood at Grimmauld Place. Why hadn't Regulus? The differences between the Black brothers were many, but James didn't think that was very unusual. He sometimes thought siblings weren't meant to understand each other. He certainly didn't understand Grace sometimes. He didn't understand why she sniped at him for having owls and broomsticks when it wasn't his fault she wasn't allowed any. He didn't understand why she never tried to curry favor with professors by showing off in their classes. He didn't understand why she'd chosen soft, quiet Regulus Black, of all people, to be her best friend, and he sure as hell didn't understand why she decided to only keep one best friend.

He didn't know her, not completely, but that was okay, because he knew he loved her. And that was all that really mattered.

"We should probably get back before Dumbledore sends a search party after us," Sirius said, rising. He ran a tired hand through his hair. "Merlin… What am I going to say to him?"

"To Dumbledore?" Or Regulus?"

"Both, I guess."

"How about leaving both for tomorrow?" James suggested, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I'm hoping Dumbledore will be gone and everyone else will be asleep by the time we get back."

"You were always too optimistic, Prongs."

A wan smile slipped across James's face. The two strolled down the hillside. The moon climbed higher and higher, until it seemed to devour the night itself. It washed the tall grass and wildflowers in silver light.

"He didn't crack," James said as they reached level ground.

"What?"

"Regulus came here tonight, same as Grace. He was spying, too. For months now. He is brave, just in his own way."

---

A/N : Unfortunately, school and work has been keeping me away from writing :( This chapter might be a little choppy since I've been away from this story for a little while, but I hope you still liked it!

As always, thank you for the faves, follows, and reviews. I really appreciate them! Keep letting me know what you think :)

Jordanden : Thanks! I'm very much still invested in this story; just got really busy recently. Hope you enjoy this update!

Sandungera : Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! I'm so glad you've been enjoying the story :)

Random Reader : I love reading your reviews, no matter the length! Thank you so much! I hope everything's well with you, too. We'll be exploring Grace's newly developed condition soon (after things calm down, haha). Yeah, Regulus and Grace's decision-making skills are definitely not great, but I hope it's understandable/believable since their situation is so difficult and dangerous. The suffering will end soon!

Anne LM : Thank you so much! I think the Kreacher in this story is more fleshed out simply by virtue of the fact he hasn't lost his mind yet. Like, in the books, he's lost all members of the Black family that he loved, couldn't fulfill Regulus's last request to destroy the locket, and seems to have just been spending years alone in a filthy house? He went a little around the bend. But, here, he's in his "prime" so to speak, so he gets to act less strange. I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter!

Byebyelipstick : Ahhh, I'm so sorry this chapter was so distressing BUT "I'm running out of ice cream" was sooo funny to read. Don't worry! Everything will be fine! And thank you for reading :)

The Goode Ravenclaw : Thank you! Honestly, the last chapter might be one of my favorites, too. It was surprisingly easy to write.

lilyflowerre : Thank you! Haha, cottage life was definitely fun to write. I can't wait to return to just humorous domestic scenes. Hope you enjoyed Sirius and James's reactions to Peter in this chapter! Yeah, everything was really rushed in the last chapter, especially Regulus immediately going to the cave—but he was having some sort of mental breakdown, so it's somewhat understandable. Thanks again! Take care of yourself, too! Hope school goes well!