Author's Note: MandyinKC encouraged me to write the characters from SM1 through the war as a second part, which I did over the course of two months. This second installment will be 47 chapters (all of them are finished) and I will try to post them weekly. I'm also posting them on AO3, which is my preferred platform. A lot of thanks to Mandy for encouraging me and bouncing ideas with me for two months. She has also been exceedingly gracious to allow me to incorporate some elements from one of her stories (Order of Mercy) as it might happen if it was in this story.

This story covers July 1996 through May 1998. There will eventually be a third part to the series that covers May 1998 through May 2001, because there are a lot of loose ends to tie up at the end of these 47 chapters.

As always, thank you for reading, reviewing, etc.!

~EA

Separate Ways

July 1996

Billiards was a game of strategy and precision, which was why Adrian liked it. It also allowed him to appear entirely focused on the table and not on the various men standing around the spacious billiard room at Warrington Hall. Because even as he lined up his next shot, he was also discreetly listening to the conversations around him, and more importantly, watching a few non-verbal images that were flitting in and out of his head.

Professor Dumbledore was a brilliant teacher — Adrian couldn't have asked for better. Unlike Professor Snape, who had merely given Adrian a single vague hint once about Occlumency and Legilimency, Professor Dumbledore had actually explained the theory behind it, and then had Adrian practice with him. He'd met with the headmaster four times so far, and those four lessons had improved his abilities tremendously; he could now create the shield in his mind without effort and he could also prevent his emotions and desires from simmering just below the surface when he was around people he didn't like. Compartmentalizing was essential for mastering this branch of magic, and Adrian had always been fairly good at that.

"Occlumency and Legilimency follow a very similar theory as resisting the Imperius Curse," Dumbledore had said, his face clouding slightly. "If I recall correctly, you showed aptitude at resisting that in your sixth year."

That had been the year Barty Crouch, Jr. hijacked Alastor Moody's body. Adrian had indeed shown aptitude at resisting the Imperius Curse; it was a little unnerving, but also satisfying, to know a Death Eater had put him through it several times until he could throw it off easily, and then the arsehole occasionally tried to catch him off guard in classes (and sometimes randomly in the castle) throughout the rest of the year, just to keep Adrian on his toes. He became so good at it that, within a month, he could repel it with his mind instead of using his wand. It was as though something inside his head grasped hold of the curse itself and stopped it from going deeper into his brain, deflecting it and pushing it outside of his body back towards the caster. The fake professor had told him that was the whole point of trying to catch Adrian off guard: so that Adrian could learn to repel the curse with his mind and not his wand.

It was also a good lesson in that it taught him that the Death Eaters would use any means to achieve their goals. In trying to secure Harry Potter for Voldemort, Barty Crouch, Jr. had also taught Adrian Pucey and others to deflect the Imperius Curse.

And Dumbledore had been right, too: the two branches of magic were very similar. But today, Adrian was using Legilimency more than Occlumency. He wasn't particularly worried about anyone breaking into his thoughts, but he absolutely wanted to see others' thoughts.

"…we can't stay in here forever," Cassius Warrington muttered to Miles Bletchley from Adrian's left, near one of the sideboards. "She'll come and drag us out soon enough." They were drinking Firewhisky; Miles's preferred liquor.

In reality, this wasn't a meet-up to play billiards and drink hard liquor. It was supposed to be a garden party. But a few of the younger men had slipped inside to the billiard room to escape the twittering women and older men milling about the expansive Warrington grounds. Adrian hated the stuffy society affairs that wealthy, pureblood families insisted upon as a way for the upper crust to mingle, be seen, network, and show off. He usually tried to avoid these events as much as he could get away with it, but his mother claimed she needed to make an appearance at this one, because she had regrettably declined Hera Warrington's last two social invitations. It had been short notice for him — she had only asked Adrian to accompany her as of yesterday evening. He agreed, because he didn't want his mother to attend alone. That was far too dangerous.

Bletchley's thoughts randomly interrupted Adrian's faux focus on the game as their eyes met for a fraction of a second. Though his former dorm mate didn't speak aloud, Adrian caught a flash of an image of Bletchley fucking Eudora in a bedroom; clearly what Bletchley would rather be doing than attending this social.

Adrian just did manage not to roll his eyes. He would rather not see that, but he supposed it was part and parcel of using Legilimency. Well, there was nothing he could do about it.

However, he had dallied long enough on his shot, so he took it to perfection, which made Graham Montague swear under his breath as Adrian straightened and stepped away from the table.

A flash from Montague's mind shot through Adrian's; Graham had no idea how to pot from the angle he'd been given and he was pissed.

Adrian kept his expression bored, neutral, and slightly arrogant. In reality, though, he wasn't bored or neutral. He was completely on edge and very much in enemy territory, while hating every second of it. The problem was, he hadn't been here long enough to make his exit yet. Hell, he hadn't even had enough time yesterday to let Dumbledore know about this. He would like to see something he could take back to the headmaster as a gift of sorts, for taking the time to teach him this obscure branch of magic.

As Montague walked the perimeter of the billiard table looking for the best angle, Adrian heard a quiet conversation off to his right.

"How is it?"

That was Ivan Rosier — though his voice was so low, Adrian barely heard it. Ivan clearly did not want to be overheard. But as soon as the question left Rosier's lips, Adrian happened to make brief eye contact with Marcus Flint, who was glancing around the room, as well. A flash from Flint's mind suddenly seared through Adrian's: a snakelike, pale face with red eyes… a wand… an excruciating spell that branded the inside of a masculine forearm with a red-hot image of a skull with a snake coming from its mouth… earsplitting yells of pain, the Dark Lord's twisted smile…

Adrian's gut clenched, but he slid his gaze calmly back to Montague as though he hadn't seen anything. The last thing he needed was for Marcus Flint to know he'd just accessed his thoughts. From the corner of his eye, Adrian noticed Rosier glance around quickly to make sure no one was listening, either. Perhaps Flint had noticed Adrian's wandering attention and alerted Rosier…?

Adrian kept his eyes on the billiards table this time, pretending he was focused solely on Montague and wasn't even aware of Rosier and Flint's conversation, hoping Rosier would chalk his previous glance up to boredom while he waited his next turn.

Montague took his shot at that moment but he missed badly. The cue ball landed on the side of the table next to Rosier and Flint, which was fortuitous, but also a bit dangerous. Adrian stepped forward, forcing his body to appear relaxed and fluid as he moved around the table. As he moved by Rosier and Flint to survey the shot, he just did catch the rest of their low conversation.

"…fade within the week," Ivan muttered, pouring Flint another double.

Adrian took the shot perfectly again, which won him the game, and he sighed imperceptibly. Maybe he could get the fuck out of this room and back into the garden, now. His nerves were shot and he didn't like knowing there were at least two definite Death Eaters present, both of whom had noticed his glance.

"This is why no one wants to play against you, Pucey," Montague gnashed.

Adrian gave him a thin smile. "I'll take that as a compliment."

The paneled door opened and everyone turned, but most of the young men just rolled their eyes and went back to their conversations. The newcomer wasn't terribly welcomed at these events, despite being a wealthy pureblood with ties to Slytherin.

The real problem was that Gilbert Royle had been sorted differently; he was the first male in his family who hadn't gone to Slytherin. However, despite being sorted into Hufflepuff, Gilbert had been raised in high society and he knew how events such as these worked. Today, he wore as arrogant an expression as Adrian, though it certainly wasn't his real personality.

"Pucey," he drawled. "Hate to interrupt, but you wouldn't have a moment, would you?"

"Sure. I just finished my game," Adrian said haughtily, handing the cue to Cassius, who wanted to play against Bletchley next. Royle didn't know it, but he'd given Adrian the out he needed, and Adrian was damned grateful for it.

The others nodded as he passed, by means of acknowledging that he was leaving the room, but he didn't speak to Gilbert until they were alone in the grand entry.

"What did you need, Royle?"

"I didn't need anything," Gil said darkly, burying his hands in his pockets. "Your mother wanted you, but I know better than to say that in front of a bunch of arseholes who would sneer about you being pussy-whipped otherwise."

Adrian almost laughed; he needed Gil's rare bitter sarcasm after the image he'd seen only a few minutes earlier. The Hufflepuff didn't want to be here anymore than he did. "Cheers. Thanks."

"You look clammy, though," Gilbert said, frowning as they stepped out into the sunlit grounds. "Sure you're okay, Pucey?"

"I'm fine. It was just a bit stuffy in there."

Gil didn't look convinced, but he didn't ask any further questions.

The Hog's Head Inn was a grungy, grimy place. Kenneth Towler had never actually gone inside the establishment before graduation, and if it wasn't for the fact that he trusted Professor Dumbledore implicitly, he wouldn't be here now, either. When he entered, there was no one downstairs except an old bartender, who glared at him with a bright blue gaze and a scowl, before jerking his head towards the staircase that led to the first floor.

Kenneth thanked him politely, but the man just rolled his eyes.

Fortunately, the two people he was meeting were far more cheerful.

Bill Weasley wasn't like his twin brothers, thank Godric. He smiled when Kenneth entered the small upstairs parlor and rose to shake his hand, and Professor Dumbledore beamed at him as well.

"Towler. Nice to meet you," Bill said, gesturing towards a third chair. "Bill Weasley."

The headmaster nodded pleasantly. "So glad you could join us this evening, Kenneth." He waved his wand and a glass appeared; Dumbledore leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, "Madam Rosmerta's finest — just don't tell the bartender downstairs."

Kenneth wasn't sure whether to laugh or not.

"So." Bill grinned. "I hear you've been hired for the incredibly thrilling and exciting job of a desk clerk at Gringotts."

At that, however, Kenneth did chuckle. "Don't take the mickey, Bill, I had to put up with your sadistic brothers for seven damn years, you know." As soon as the words left his mouth, he flushed and glanced towards Professor Dumbledore. "Er, sorry, Professor," he added hastily. "I didn't mean…"

But Professor Dumbledore was looking at the ceiling and twiddling his thumbs. "Goodness, I'm terribly sorry," the headmaster replied, jerking as though he'd only just realized Kenneth was speaking. "I must have gone temporarily deaf."

Kenneth gave him a weak smile. "Cheers?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Bill laughed comfortably. "Albus knows we're going to swear occasionally. We're young and we're all fighting a war. That tends to bring out some colorful metaphors."

"Very true," Dumbledore agreed. "But, colorful metaphors aside… Kenneth." He straightened and met Kenneth's gaze evenly. "I have taken your request into consideration, which you made to me at the end of last month. I am willing to allow you to join the Order." He hesitated, then added, "Under one condition. Your involvement must remain secret except from myself and Bill — at least for the time being. At some point, I will certainly make one or two others aware that you are a member of the Order, but for now, I think it best that the knowledge remains between the three of us."

Kenneth swallowed his disappointment. He'd been prepared for that, but it still stung. Joining the Order would prove he hadn't been sorted wrong, after all. But to join and not be able to admit it to other Order members? That was frustrating. Especially since Fred and George had been allowed to join openly.

"It is not because you are not brave," Dumbledore said kindly. "The reason is twofold. First, I know your father would not want you to join…"

That brought out a very different bitter feeling. Even having practiced Occlumency a few times with Professor Dumbledore, he wasn't able to stop the resentment from rising.

His father, Lionel Towler, had made it quite clear the day after Kenneth graduated and returned home: he did not want his son joining the Order of the Phoenix and he was highly disappointed that Kenneth didn't want to work at the Ministry of Magic. Lionel was the Lead Liaison Minister in the Department of International Magical Cooperation — he was extremely high up in rank and he commanded a lot of respect, and Kenneth could have had any job at the Ministry he wanted. The problem was, Kenneth didn't want to work for the soddin' Ministry. He'd just spent an entire year losing a battle of wills to Dolores Umbridge (who had hated his guts, he might add, and had made his life completely miserable), and he sure as hell didn't want to work for the organization that had placed her at Hogwarts in a position of total power, even if Cornelius Fudge had been sacked. Word was, Dolores had returned to the Ministry — she had been shunted into a smaller department, but that could easily change. She was the sort of woman who would claw her way back into a position of power, and Kenneth didn't want to be anywhere near her.

The darkly ironic thing was, until the past year, he'd always assumed he would end up working at the Ministry of Magic like his father. Instead, Kenneth had applied to Gringotts before graduation, just to be contradictory and ornery. Of course, that decision irritated his father to no end. Kenneth could distinctly recall the heated conversation they'd had the day he'd returned home, when he'd finally admitted he was going to start work at the wizarding bank the following week. His dad wasn't impressed or happy.

Nor had his father wanted Kenneth to move out into a flat of his own, but Kenneth had done that, too. A nice little place above one of the shops in Diagon Alley proper — Number 43B, and it even had two bedrooms. Because he was eighteen for Merlin's sake, and living away from his parents with his girlfriend sounded like a damned good idea. Whatever the Weasley twins said, he was still hot-blooded and he got a hell of a thrill out of seeing Karen in a tight sweater and short skirt, damn it. And she liked the idea of moving in with him, too.

However, there was a lot Kenneth hadn't told his father.

Like the fact that he had started taking private lessons with Professor Dumbledore, honing his skills at Occlumency and Legilimency. Dumbledore had realized Kenneth had a talent for that branch of magic during a debriefing after the headmaster had returned to the school in mid-June. He'd been so impressed he'd offered to teach Kenneth personally. Kenneth was proud of that, but the reason behind Dumbledore's offer was more worrying. He needed Kenneth to help with the war effort.

Seemingly unaware of Kenneth's conflicted thoughts (or perhaps just ignoring them), Dumbledore continued, "…and secondly, your task requires more secrecy than the work others are doing for the Order. I don't want you to fight — I need you to help Bill." He turned towards the older young man. "If you please, Bill?"

"Right," Bill said briskly. "So here's how this is going to work. I'll be your direct supervisor at the bank. Don't worry about Gerald Harper, Head of Existing Accounts. He's my current boss, and I'll deal with him. Our task for the Order is to discreetly review the accounts of known Death Eaters while we're doing our jobs, and look for patterns. A lot of accounts are set up for direct withdrawals — for example, a family may have an account with Flourish and Blotts, so when they purchase books there, the bookstore simply bills the family's vault directly. The gold is then transferred from the family's Gringotts account to the Flourish and Blotts Gringotts account. A lot of Death Eaters also have charitable contributions taken directly from their accounts too, so we need to look at those, as well. That's how many of them integrated themselves back into society after the last war — giving loads of gold to charities and the Ministry. Now, if one of the families we've flagged actually came into the bank to withdraw gold from their vault, we can't do much in those situations." Bill glanced at Professor Dumbledore. "However…"

Dumbledore nodded. "However, if a suspect or a member of their family actually came into the bank in person, and you were to discreetly use Legilimency, we might glean some information. That hinges, of course, on you being allowed to go into the main hall while they are there. Gerald Harper may handle those interactions himself, as he was in Slytherin when he was at school… but if he allowed Bill to go, then you would accompany Bill. I think it might be necessary to Disillusion yourself in that situation."

Kenneth paled. "I don't know if I'm good enough to use Legilimency against known Death Eaters, yet."

"Well…" Dumbledore smiled. "It's only mid-July. I intend to continue your lessons through early August, and I have no doubt you'll be able to use the skills more effectively by that point. Of course, it does take a lifetime of practice to become as skilled as myself or Lord Voldemort, but most wizards are not nearly as skilled even as you are in these arts. Some are completely unaware when anyone is using Legilimency or Occlumency against them."

"I was just about to ask — what should I do if someone realized I was using Legilimency against them?" Kenneth felt his nerves tauten a bit.

"Cast a damn good shield charm and get the hell out of the main hall," Bill deadpanned. "But being Disillusioned would help."

Dumbledore ignored Bill and met Kenneth's worried gaze. "As a matter of fact, I am coaching one other person in the same subject besides yourself this summer. That person has only had four lessons thus far, but was able to use the skill effectively just two days ago without getting caught. If they could get away with it, I'm sure you will be able to succeed to some extent, too. Now. I apologize, but I have another meeting I must attend. If you need me, you may reach me by sending a Patronus with a message. Bill can teach you how to use it to send a message, but I would like to see your Patronus now, if I may."

Kenneth winced. "Er, I don't know if that's a good idea…"

Dumbledore's eyebrows arched. "Oh?"

"What is your Patronus?" Bill suddenly looked indecently delighted — and that was the expression Kenneth most associated with the twins.

"Oh, fine," Kenneth snapped, disgruntled and annoyed. He hated casting his Patronus, and with good reason. But he raised his wand, winced, and growled, "Expecto Patronum!"

A huge silver bull elephant burst forth, materializing into being on the other side of the table. It was massive; it filled the whole room and Bill swore loudly. Dumbledore, however, just chuckled.

"Goodness, that's incredibly impressive, Mr. Towler! I don't think I've ever seen one so large!"

Completely embarrassed, Kenneth waved his wand and the Patronus vanished. "It's not funny," he complained angrily. "I didn't think I would live it down when everyone saw during the practical Defense N.E.W.T. a month ago!"

"Elephants symbolize very important things, though — such as strength, wisdom, and stability. Qualities you yourself embody as a Gryffindor."

Kenneth blushed and muttered, "I would have preferred it to be an eagle; they represent strength and wisdom too, you know. Even if eagles are more symbolic of Ravenclaw."

It was obvious that Bill was trying very hard not to laugh. "I can see what you mean, though. There's no way you can send a message with that thing unless you knew for a fact the person was alone when they received it."

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, well, you also have a rather large Patronus, Bill."

"True." Bill grinned. He raised his wand. "Expecto Patronum!"

A silver lion erupted and roared silently at them. It wasn't as large as Kenneth's Patronus, but it was still pretty big. Kenneth felt slightly mollified.

"My Patronus," Dumbledore said, "is a phoenix. Just in case I ever need to reach you. However, I really must be going. Bill, if you would teach Mr. Towler how to send it with a message, please? And I will be in touch with you both soon. Stay safe, please."

They raised their hands in farewell as Dumbledore left, and once he was gone, Bill gave Kenneth a more sincere smile. "So — a Patronus with a message. It's not hard, but it must be cast nonverbally."

Kenneth nodded. He highly doubted he would ever use his Patronus for that purpose if he could avoid it, but he listened, anyway.

The flat was small and cramped, located in a narrow side alley off Diagon Alley in wizarding London. It was situated on the first level above a small second-hand store that sold used magical items. But it had two bedrooms (no matter that they were tiny) and was close to everything, which was its main appeal, even if the layout was a little wonky. And Alicia was grateful her best friend was willing to let her room there.

Angelina had signed with Holyhead that very month as a reserve Chaser, making a damn good entry salary, all things considered. But when she asked Alicia if she would move in with her, Alicia had initially declined the offer. She told Angelina point-blank that she couldn't afford to help with rent, and she couldn't ask her parents for money, either — their income was too tight. Alicia had been very lucky that she'd received a scholarship to help pay for her tuition and books at St. Mungo's Healer Institute based on her stellar grades and ten N.E.W.T.'s, but she didn't have any spare funds, that was for sure. And it wasn't as if she could get a part-time job; the Healer program was likely to be very difficult and immensely time consuming.

Of course, Angelina had merely snorted and said, "Come on, really? Do you seriously think I care about that? It'll get you out of your parents' place and you'll still be close to St. Mungo's. Come on, Alicia, it doesn't feel right if we aren't rooming together. We've been roommates for the past seven years, damn it. You're more of a sister to me than my real sister."

All of which was true. They had been roommates for seven years — just the two of them — and they had grown close because of it. Angelina was like a sister to Alicia too, and Alicia had not been looking forward to moving back in with her parents. The fact that Angelina was willing to let her move in and not pay rent was a dream come true; Alicia couldn't afford her own flat, and she sure as heck didn't want to move in with the twins or Lee (not that they hadn't enthusiastically offered).

Which was how she found herself unpacking her trunk in the tiny second bedroom of Angelina's flat, putting away her clothes and books, using her wand to charm the walls a dark burgundy color, to clean the wooden blinds and to hang rich chocolate curtains, to polish the dark hardwood floor until it gleamed, and to change her comforter to a pretty gold color.

Her last task was to send some framed wizarding photographs to a shelf above the used desk she'd picked up in a muggle thrift shop a few days earlier. Most of the pictures were of her, Angie, and Katie — though there was one of all six Gryffindors from the Class of '96, one of the four Gryffindor boys by themselves, and one of the her, Angie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione that Colin had taken at the Leaving Feast three weeks earlier. As she looked at that picture, she felt a small twinge of sadness. She had wanted to take another photo that night with another person, but it would have been too hard to explain to everyone and it certainly would have drawn too much unwanted attention. Taking a deep breath, she waved her wand behind her, towards her trunk. A green and silver Hogwarts tie floated into her field of vision and she gently plucked it from the air, running her thumb over the cool silk before pressing it to her nose. A faint woodsy scent lingered there. She'd cast a charm on it the night she'd gotten it, just to make sure the scent didn't fade. She loved that scent. She'd never asked what it was called, but in her mind, she thought of it as Sinfully Fit.

"Maybe he's holding yours and thinking of you, too."

Alicia jumped slightly, startled to find Angelina leaning on the doorframe with an unreadable expression.

She quickly shook her head, ignoring the sympathy in her friend's tone. "Probably not," she admitted as casually as she could, before moving towards the desk and the shelf on the wall.

Maybe she should just put the Slytherin tie back in the trunk.

Except, now that she had it in her hands, she couldn't seem to pack it away again. It was so pretty, like emeralds and sterling. She draped it delicately over the corner of a picture of just herself with her broomstick on the Quidditch pitch. Colin had snapped that one, too — just after the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game a month ago. She had a lot of memories from that day and night… memories she would never forget. Especially that night. She allowed herself to think of those for a moment, of snogging with him on that couch, before Angelina cleared her throat.

"Well. I love these colors," Angelina said, gesturing to the room at large. "Do the sitting room next, would you?"

The tension broke and Alicia laughed. "Of course." That was part of the deal: she couldn't pay rent, but she could keep the flat clean, fresh, and bright, because Angie would be training quite a bit. "And I'll do the kitchen, too."

Angelina smiled. "Cheers. I'm off to practice. Be safe, okay? Don't go out by yourself while I'm gone. If you need anything, get one of the twins or Lee to meet you."

"I will." That had been the agreement they'd made with Fred, George, and Lee a few days earlier. Diagon Alley had changed almost overnight since Voldemort had come into the open again. Some shops had closed up completely and seedy stalls selling fake amulets had sprung up. It was pretty depressing, in all honesty.

"And don't forget, the twins are throwing a big bash at their place this weekend. We have to go."

Alicia nodded. "Of course we have to go."

She followed Angelina to the flat's main door, which was off the kitchen. It led onto a small landing and a set of metal fire escape stairs that zig-zagged down the side to the alley below. The first thing Alicia had done was set up anti-Apparition spells around their flat as a precaution. They were living in dangerous times, after all. It meant they could only Apparate or Disapparate from the landing itself. She had also used magic to build a privacy wall one the side of the landing to prevent anyone in the alleys from seeing anyone on the landing itself.

"See you," Angelina said, stepping onto the landing. Alicia watched her disappear before she closed and locked the door with several spells.

Then she turned to look at the kitchen. It was a dingy, pale yellow with daisies, accented in faded avocado green. Alicia grimaced. Hideous. She waved her wand. The wallpaper vanished; everything was replaced by colors of bright white and delft blue.

That was much better.