Dinner at Potter Manor was a much-needed moment of respite after the past few days of chaos. With training schedules keeping them all on different timetables, it was the first time in nearly a week that Hermione, James, Sirius, and Remus were all in the same room for more than five minutes.

James wasted no time in making his grievances known.

"I didn't think I'd miss you this much after just a few days," he declared, stabbing his fork into his mashed potatoes dramatically before pointing it at Hermione. "You keep disappearing on me."

Hermione, who had been preoccupied with arranging her vegetables into neat little piles, glanced up and raised an eyebrow. "I live with you, James."

"Yeah, but you're always off doing top-secret Fabian things while I'm getting tossed around by Moody," James grumbled.

"That's because you chose to be mentored by a paranoid Auror," Remus said dryly.

"As if I chose it…" James muttered under his breath.

Sirius snorted. "You should see him after training. Looks like he's gone ten rounds with a Hungarian Horntail."

James waved his fork dismissively. "He says I need to 'learn to duel with my instincts' instead of 'relying on my bloody textbook spells.'"

Hermione tilted her head. "I mean… he's not wrong."

James gaped at her. "Et tu, Hermione?"

She fought back a smirk. "You are a bit predictable sometimes."

"I'm deeply wounded," James declared, pressing a hand over his heart.

Sirius waved his knife in the air. "At least you're getting proper duelling practice. I'm stuck with Edgar Bones, and he's got me running around like a bloody errand boy. The man has a thousand contacts and zero time to talk to them all himself. I might as well start wearing a sign that says 'Official Order Messenger.'"

Remus huffed a quiet laugh. "At least it's keeping you busy."

Sirius shot him a look. "As if you're not. You and Benjy are basically attached at the hip these days."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Benjy's good. He's got a sharp mind, and he actually explains his reasoning behind his decisions instead of just telling me what to do."

"I explain things," Sirius argued.

Remus gave him a pointed look.

Sirius scoffed. "Fine, maybe not everything. Some things just work because they work, Moony."

Hermione shook her head, though she was smiling. "Well, at least you're all doing something. Fabian mostly has me sitting in pubs and listening."

Sirius perked up. "Wait, you're a spy now? Can I be a spy?"

"No," James and Remus said at the same time.

Sirius pouted. "Rude."

"You'd be a terrible spy," James added, tossing a bread roll at him.

Sirius caught it easily. "I'd be an excellent spy. Handsome. Charming. Brooding."

"Loud," Remus deadpanned.

James nodded. "Reckless."

Hermione hummed. "Easily distracted."

Sirius clutched his chest in mock offense. "This is slander. I'll have you all know that I am deeply subtle when I need to be."

Remus snorted. "Sure, Pads."

As the laughter settled, Hermione turned to Remus. "So, what's the plan with Belby?"

Remus exhaled. "Tomorrow's my first proper assessment. If everything checks out, I'll start taking the potion in a few days. I'll have to stay there for the first couple of nights, just to monitor for any immediate side effects. After that, I'll only need to go in for evening doses until the full moon."

"And after?" Hermione asked.

"A day or two of observation, depending on how things go," Remus said with a small shrug. "Then back to normal. Or… well, a new normal."

Sirius frowned. "You'll be gone for three nights straight?"

Remus sighed. "It's a medical trial, Pads, not a holiday."

Sirius dramatically pushed his plate away. "Great. Abandoned already."

"You're coming here for dinner every night anyway," James pointed out.

Sirius perked up. "Oh. Right."

Remus shook his head fondly. "Hopeless."

Sirius sat up straighter, his grin turning sharp. "So what I'm hearing is—we have no idea when we'll all be in the same place again."

"Not with everyone's schedules," James admitted, stretching his arms over his head. "It's a bloody miracle we even had dinner together today."

"Exactly my point!" Sirius slapped his palms against the table, making the cutlery rattle. Remus let out a dramatic sigh, clearly bracing himself for whatever was coming. "So, we fix it. Right now. I'm going to grab Pete, and we are going out."

"To where?" Hermione asked, arching a brow.

"The pub, obviously," Sirius declared.

James raised an eyebrow. "The Leaky?"

Sirius scoffed. "Too crowded. And too many nosy people."

Remus sighed. "Hogsmeade?"

"Too many people who know us."

Hermione leaned back, arms crossed. "And I suppose you have a better idea?"

Sirius grinned like she had played right into his hands. "As a matter of fact—yes. That Muggle pub in Godric's Hollow."

James blinked. "Wait. The pub?"

Sirius's grin widened. "You know the one."

"Oh, brilliant." James laughed. "That place is—"

"Questionable," Remus finished.

"Which is exactly why we're going," Sirius announced, standing up and stretching as if this was the most natural plan in the world. "We deserve a proper night out, and that place is just seedy enough that nobody will care who we are."

Hermione gave him a look. "That is not reassuring."

"Relax, Kitten," Sirius said, waving her off. "Off to get Wormy. Meet us there in ten."

And before anyone could get another word in, he was gone with a sharp crack, leaving the rest of them sitting there, watching the spot where he'd stood.

James snorted, shaking his head. "Well. That was inevitable."

Remus exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why do we let him plan things?"

Hermione just sighed. "Because he doesn't ask—he just decides."

James grinned, pushing back his chair. "Well, we better get going before he ropes Peter into some grand plan we'll regret."

Remus sighed again, but there was fond amusement in his eyes. "Merlin help us all."

With that, the three of them stood, ready to follow Sirius into whatever chaos awaited them.

The pub was dimly lit and comfortably warm, the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses filling the air. The Marauders and Hermione had commandeered a booth near the back, away from the nosier patrons, as they nursed their drinks. Peter, however, looked particularly glum, slumped in his seat with his arms crossed, his pint barely touched.

"So let me get this straight," Sirius said, taking a long sip of his drink before setting it down with a thud against the table. "You asked Dumbledore to let you in, and he refused?"

Peter scowled, jabbing his straw angrily into the condensation pooling on the wooden table. "He said he admires my courage—" the words were dripping with bitterness, "—but that my 'lack of skill' would put me in too much danger."

James winced, running a hand through his hair. "That's… very Dumbledore of him."

Remus nodded. "Blunt and frustrating, but not exactly wrong."

Peter's face darkened further, his fingers curling around his glass. "So you all get to be part of this—fighting, making a difference—but I just get to sit back and watch?"

Hermione sighed, leaning forward. "Pete, it's not about keeping you out—it's about keeping you safe."

"I don't need to be kept safe!" Peter snapped, his voice sharper than usual. "You think I don't want to help? That I don't want to do something? You all get to be in the thick of it, while I'm just supposed to—what? Sit around and hope things work out?"

Sirius exhaled heavily, resting his chin on his hand. "Wormy, come on, mate. You know this isn't a slight against you. You've got guts, but you're not exactly the best duelist."

Peter's mouth twisted. "Oh, so now I'm useless?"

James shook his head firmly. "No. That's not what he means. No one is saying you're useless, Pete."

Remus leaned forward, his voice calm but serious. "You're our friend. This isn't about skill—it's about keeping you alive. The Order's dangerous, Pete. We're walking straight into the worst of it, and I'd rather you not be there if it means you get to live."

Peter scoffed, shaking his head. "Easy for you to say when you do get to fight. You all get to be heroes."

"Heroes?" Sirius barked a laugh, but there was no real humour in it. "This isn't some grand adventure, Wormtail. This is war. We're going to lose people, we're going to get hurt, and none of us are walking out of this unchanged. You think we want you to go through that?"

Peter's expression wavered for a moment before he frowned, gripping his glass tighter. "I just don't want to be left behind."

Hermione reached across the table, resting her hand on his arm. "You're not left behind, Peter. You're our friend. This isn't about excluding you—it's about making sure you don't get in over your head."

Peter hesitated, looking down at her hand before glancing at each of them. They weren't mocking him. They weren't shutting him out. He could see the genuine concern in James's furrowed brow, the quiet worry in Remus's eyes, the way Sirius, despite his usual bravado, looked a little too serious about this. Even Hermione, who wasn't part of their original group but had become part of their family nonetheless, was looking at him with sincerity.

For the first time, the anger faded from Peter's face, replaced with something more vulnerable. "You really think I wouldn't stand a chance?"

Sirius gave him a wry smile. "Against a Death Eater? You'd last maybe ten seconds."

Peter groaned, shoving him. "Oh, sod off."

James grinned. "But ten whole seconds, mate. That's longer than I expected."

Peter rolled his eyes, but there was a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "You're all prats."

"Yeah, yeah," Sirius said, leaning back in his chair. "Look, if you really want to help, you don't need to be an Order member to do it. There are plenty of ways to be useful without getting yourself killed."

Peter frowned. "Like what?"

Remus tapped his fingers against his glass. "You work at the Ministry, yeah? Keep your ears open. You hear anything, anything at all, that could be useful to us—you let us know."

Peter blinked. "So… like, spying?"

Hermione sighed. "Observing, Peter. Paying attention to what's happening. If something feels off, you tell us."

James nodded. "That way, you're still helping, but you're not out there duelling Death Eaters."

Peter seemed to mull this over, his eyes darting between them. Then, slowly, he exhaled. "Alright. I guess… I guess that makes sense."

Sirius smirked. "There we go. That's the spirit."

James clapped Peter on the back. "See? We just want you to stay alive, Wormtail. That's all."

Peter nodded, though his shoulders were still a little tense. "Thanks, I guess."

"Anytime, mate," Sirius said, raising his glass. "Now, let's drink to our dear friend, who has tragically been rejected by Albus Dumbledore himself."

Peter groaned. "You're never going to let this go, are you?"

James grinned. "Not a chance."

And as the tension finally eased, the laughter at their table was a little lighter, the weight on Peter's shoulders just a bit less heavy.

Hermione was about ready to hex Sirius.

He had come over to the manor, seemingly for no other reason than to be a complete menace. It was two days after the full moon, and naturally, they were all anxious to hear how it had gone for Remus. It felt wrong not being there with him, not transforming alongside Moony as they had done for years. But between being run ragged by Fabian with duelling lessons, keeping up with her research, and worrying about both Remus and everything else, Hermione was teetering on the edge of snapping.

And Sirius was not helping.

"Pads, please," she gritted out after his fifth attempt at charming her quill to write nonsense in her notes. "I swear to Merlin, if you keep this up—"

"Oh, come on, Kitten," Sirius said, utterly unfazed. "You've been holed up in here all morning looking miserable. I'm just providing a little entertainment."

James, who was sprawled across the couch flipping through one of his family grimoires, looked up with an amused smirk. "She's going to hex you."

"I welcome the challenge," Sirius declared grandly, stretching his arms behind his head. "At least it would be something interesting."

Hermione's eye twitched. Her wand was right there. One well-aimed Bat-Bogey Hex would shut him up.

James, clearly sensing her imminent wrath, wisely changed the subject. "I wonder if Remus is back yet—"

At that moment, the front door opened, followed by a familiar voice calling out, "Padfoot?"

The tension in Hermione's shoulders eased instantly, relief washing over her as she bolted upright. Sirius perked up as well, his grin widening as he jumped to his feet and practically ran to the entrance hall. Hermione and James weren't far behind.

Remus stood in the foyer, looking tired but—more importantly—unharmed. His eyes lit up when he spotted them, but they immediately narrowed when he saw Sirius.

"There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!" Remus huffed, crossing his arms. "You weren't at the flat."

Sirius shrugged, unbothered. "No, I was here. The food is better."

Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't even have it in her to be annoyed anymore. "Forget that—how was it?"

Remus beamed, running a hand through his hair. "It worked."

Silence fell for a heartbeat before James let out a whoop of celebration, and Sirius punched the air.

"You're serious?" Hermione gasped.

"No, he's Sirius," Remus deadpanned, tilting his head toward their grinning friend.

Hermione swatted his arm. "You git, you know what I meant!"

Remus laughed, eyes bright with something she hadn't seen in a long time—hope. "It worked," he repeated. "The transformation was still painful—horrifically painful, actually, without the calming draught and all that other stuff Hermione always gave me beforehand, but once it was over... I wasn't Moony. Not really. I had my mind the whole night. No violent urges, no confusion. Just... myself."

Hermione pressed a hand over her mouth, overwhelmed.

"No glaring side effects?" James asked.

Remus grimaced. "Well, the potion tastes like absolute arse, but aside from that? Nothing major. No injuries either." He hesitated, then added, "It was weird, though. I just... sat there for most of the night. Didn't even feel the need to run."

Sirius let out an exaggerated sigh. "Tragic. No moonlit frolicking."

Remus elbowed him. "Not this time, no."

Hermione still hadn't moved, her brain struggling to process the sheer magnitude of what this meant.

It worked.

Belby managed the right formula already just based on her hints.

It worked.

After all the years of suffering, of isolation, of locking himself away—Remus had a way to keep his mind. He had hope now.

She turned abruptly and hugged him, squeezing so tightly he let out a small oof.

"I take it you approve?" he chuckled, hugging her back.

"You have no idea how much," she mumbled into his shoulder.

Remus's grip tightened just slightly, a silent acknowledgment that he understood what she wasn't saying.

Hermione could hardly believe it herself. Wolfsbane was supposed to be years away from even existing, and yet here was Remus, standing in front of her, untouched after a full moon. No injuries. No torn clothes. No exhausted slump against the nearest piece of furniture. Just… Remus. As if he'd had an unusually bad night's sleep rather than a forced, agonizing transformation.

She exhaled, stepping back, blinking away the stinging behind her eyes. It worked.

James grinned, clapping Remus on the back. "So, does this mean you're staying the full trial with Belby?"

Remus nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. He wants to see how it affects me long-term. The plan is to keep taking it for a few months and see if the results stay consistent."

Sirius let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Merlin's beard, Moony. You're practically a normal person now."

Remus snorted. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"Still, this is—" James exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell, this is huge."

"We will still get to go romping in the forest near the cabin once you are out of the trials, right?" Sirius asked, grinning as if already planning their next full moon adventure.

But instead of the amused or exasperated response he expected, Remus suddenly paled, his expression shifting from excitement to dawning horror. "Shit."

James frowned. "What?"

Remus ran a hand over his face. "How am I going to get the potion once the trials are done? What I gathered from Belby, the ingredients are insanely expensive and rare, and it practically requires a Potions Master to brew it. It won't be released for commercial brewing for at least another year."

Silence fell over the group as the reality of the situation sank in.

"Wait, so if you can't get it after the trials—" Sirius started, his tone darkening.

"Then I'm back to locking myself up every full moon like I have been my whole life," Remus finished, jaw tightening.

Hermione bit her lip, already shifting into problem-solving mode. "Is Belby willing to teach someone the recipe?" she asked, glancing at Remus. "I'm sure I could brew it if I had the instructions. Or if not me, then Lily. She's definitely Potions Mastery material."

Sirius snapped his fingers. "That's brilliant! Belby already suspects you know someone with lycanthropy, right? If you asked to learn how to brew it, he might just assume you're offering for a friend."

James nodded eagerly. "It's worth a shot. If not you, then Lily for sure. She's already planning to go into advanced Potions anyway."

Remus still looked hesitant. "That's… a lot to ask of you both."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Remus, I'd have to be the worst friend in history to sit back and do nothing when I have the means to help."

James grinned. "And honestly, mate, I don't think you can stop her. This is Hermione we're talking about."

Remus let out a breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Alright," he conceded. "I'll talk to Belby about it. No promises, though."

Sirius clapped him on the back. "We'll sort this, Moony. No way we're letting you go back to the old way after getting a taste of freedom."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Remus's lips. "Thanks, guys."

Hermione crossed her arms. "Don't thank us yet. You haven't seen me brew it."

James chuckled. "It's Hermione. What could possibly go wrong?"

Sirius smirked. "Famous last words, Prongs."

"That still doesn't solve the ingredients," Remus said, rubbing his temples. "They're not just expensive, they're rare. Even if we had the recipe, getting everything we need would be a nightmare."

James looked at him like he had just suggested giving up Quidditch. "If you think for a second I'm not funding this, then I think you don't know me very well, Moony."

Remus stiffened, shaking his head. "James, no. I can't ask this of you. It's too much."

"You're not asking," James countered smoothly, crossing his arms. "I'm offering."

"It's—" Remus exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's an insane amount of galleons, Prongs. I—"

James cut him off with a wave of his hand. "And what exactly am I supposed to do with all that Potter gold? Buy another broom? A second manor? Maybe start collecting racing Hippogriffs?" He huffed. "This is what it's for, Moony. If I can make your life easier, I'm damn well going to do it."

Remus opened his mouth, clearly about to argue, but Sirius clapped a hand on his shoulder, cutting him off. "Mate, just take the bloody money before James makes a grand speech about friendship and responsibility, and we all start crying."

Hermione smirked. "Too late, I think he was halfway there."

James grinned. "You're damn right I was."

Remus looked between them, his expression torn between exasperation and deep, undeniable gratitude. "You're all ridiculous."

Sirius grinned. "And you're stuck with us."

Remus let out a tired laugh, shaking his head. "Fine. But I'm paying you back."

James just rolled his eyes. "Sure, Moony. Add it to the ever-growing tab I'll never actually accept for you to pay."

Hermione leaned in with a teasing smile. "Might as well accept it now. You've lost this argument."

Remus groaned, but there was no real fight left in him. "Merlin help me."

Sirius slung an arm around him. "Merlin can wait. Right now, you need to focus on getting that potion in you every month. And then, we're going to take you on the best bloody moonlit romp of your life."

James smirked. "Fully funded, of course."

Remus let out a long-suffering sigh, but there was warmth in his eyes as he muttered, "Idiots. Absolute idiots."

"Your idiots," Hermione corrected, grinning.

Remus shook his head, but he was smiling now. "Yeah. My idiots."

The private back room in the Hog's Head was dimly lit as usual, the scent of firewhiskey and old wood thick in the air as members of the Order settled into their seats. The meeting proceeded much like the last—mentors reporting on their mentees' progress, discussing dueling, stealth, reconnaissance, and strategy.

The general consensus among the senior members was that the new recruits were a solid addition to the Order. Even Moody, grizzled and eternally suspicious, begrudgingly admitted, "Not bad, for fresh recruits. But four weeks? It's not nearly enough to prepare anyone for anything." His magical eye spun wildly as he surveyed the room. "We're tossing lambs to the wolves."

The conversation soon shifted to patrol assignments. The Order was organizing groups to keep an eye on key locations—Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, Ministry-adjacent safehouses, and even a few Muggle areas that had recently been hit by suspicious incidents. Alice and Frank were assigned to Hogsmeade, Sirius and Edgar Bones to a stretch along the Welsh border. Remus was put on limited duty, given his trial schedule with Belby. Marlene and the Prewett twins were tasked with Diagon Alley and its surrounding wards.

But when James and Hermione were conspicuously left out of the assignments, Hermione's brows furrowed.

Instead, Dumbledore, who had been silent for most of the meeting, finally spoke. "Miss Prewett, Mr Potter. If you would remain behind for a moment."

That was all he said before the meeting adjourned.

James exchanged a glance with Hermione as the others filtered out. Sirius shot him a curious look, but James just shrugged. Remus lingered for a moment, his brows knit together, but even he followed the others out.

"I have a different task for you both," Dumbledore said, his usual twinkle absent from his eyes. "We leave tonight."

James and Hermione exchanged a look. "We?" James asked, straightening.

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed. The three of us."

"Is it... one of the items, sir?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"Indeed," Dumbledore confirmed. "If you both will take my arm, we can depart immediately."

Without further hesitation, Hermione and James stepped forward, gripping Dumbledore's arms. With a sharp twist, the world disappeared in a rush of wind and suffocating pressure, only to resolve a moment later on the outskirts of a small, unassuming Muggle village.

Dumbledore adjusted his robes. "Welcome to Little Hangleton."

Hermione furrowed her brows. That name meant nothing to her.

"So, Riddle had roots here?" James guessed, sensing the weight in Dumbledore's tone as he surveyed the village with narrowed eyes.

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Indeed. This was once the home of both the Gaunt and Riddle families. We are visiting the shack you might remember from the memories I have retrieved from Morfin Gaunt."

Hermione swallowed hard. It made perfect sense. The ring.

They made their way deeper into the overgrown countryside, thick crops of trees and tangled underbrush making the journey slow. Eventually, they reached a dilapidated shack, the wood rotten and sagging in places, covered in creeping ivy.

A dead snake was nailed to the door.

"Charming," James muttered, grimacing.

Dumbledore didn't pause, only raising his wand and waving it in slow, intricate motions. Spells shimmered through the air, layers upon layers of old enchantments that even Hermione couldn't begin to untangle. Some of them felt old, faded with time, but others—others still pulsed with a residual darkness.

"Be careful," Dumbledore murmured. "This place has been long abandoned, but it was never meant to be forgotten."

Hermione shivered slightly. This was once the home of Morfin Gaunt. He lived here, raving about blood purity, wearing the Gaunt ring like a trophy. And now… Voldemort had turned it into something even worse.

Dumbledore stepped forward, casting a final wave of his wand. The door creaked open on its own, revealing the dim, musty interior. The air inside was thick with decay, the scent of rotting wood and mildew hanging heavily.

"It's beneath the floorboards at the far end," Dumbledore said, moving ahead with purpose. "The magic here is unmistakable."

James and Hermione followed cautiously as Dumbledore knelt, sweeping his wand over the ground. A faint pulse of dark magic responded, the sensation raising goosebumps on Hermione's arms.

With a precise flick of his wand, Dumbledore levitated a small wooden box out from its hiding place. It was unremarkable—plain, worn from age, its hinges rusted.

But the moment it emerged, something shifted in the air.

Dumbledore froze, his hand twitching toward the floating box as if drawn to it. His expression changed—his usual calm resolve flickering into something almost desperate.

James's eyes widened. "Professor?"

Dumbledore didn't answer. His fingers stretched toward the latch, his blue eyes locked onto the box like it held the only thing that mattered in the world.

Hermione felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. "James," she breathed, realizing what was happening. "He's under something. A compulsion."

James didn't hesitate. In a swift motion, he flicked his wand up. "Expelliarmus!"

Dumbledore's wand flew from his grasp, and the wooden box dropped as the spell levitating it got cancelled, hitting the ground with a dull thud. The latch cracked open on impact, the lid falling away. A single ring rolled out, catching the dim light.

Dumbledore moved toward it again, reaching out as if in a trance.

Hermione reacted on instinct.

She slapped him. Hard.

Dumbledore reeled back, blinking rapidly as if suddenly waking from a dream. He touched his cheek where she had struck him, his fingers trembling slightly. Then, slowly, his expression cleared.

"Well," he murmured, "that was most unexpected."

James exhaled sharply. "I think you were about to put on a very cursed ring."

Dumbledore glanced down at it, the golden band resting innocently in the dust. "Yes… I believe you are right."

Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "We should destroy it. Now."

Dumbledore nodded, retrieving his wand from where it had landed. He raised it over the ring and murmured an incantation so quietly that Hermione barely caught it. A tendril of blue-white flame curled from the tip of his wand—small, contained, but unmistakable.

Fiendfyre.

The moment the cursed flames touched the ring, the effect was instant. The band shuddered violently as the magic within it fought back, but Dumbledore remained steady, his eyes locked on the object as the fire consumed it. A thin, high-pitched wail filled the air before fading into nothing.

The ring was gone.

James, catching his breath, stepped forward to inspect the now-empty space where it had been.

But something caught his eye.

A small, dark stone, barely distinguishable from the surrounding debris, lay untouched in the dust. Unlike the ring, it had not been consumed.

James bent down and picked it up before Hermione or Dumbledore noticed, turning it over in his fingers. A symbol was carved into its surface—the Peverell symbol.

His pulse quickened.

Quietly, he slipped it into his pocket.

Straightening, he cleared his throat. "All destroyed," he reported smoothly.

Dumbledore gave a small nod, still looking somewhat dazed. "Good. Very good."

Hermione, satisfied, looked around warily. "Then we should leave. I don't want to stay here longer than necessary."

Dumbledore agreed. "Indeed. Take my arm."

And with that, the three of them disappeared from Little Hangleton, leaving only silence—and the faint traces of dark magic lingering in the ruined home of Morfin Gaunt.

The next day, James and Hermione woke up to the rare luxury of having no obligations. It was a blessed relief after the intensity of the previous evening's mission, and James reckoned Dumbledore must have spoken to both Moody and Fabian to let them off for the day—probably anticipating that whatever had happened in Little Hangleton, they'd need time to recover.

"I say we make the most of it," James said over breakfast, stretching with a satisfied groan. "Maybe a quiet day, just us. No duelling, no secret missions, no sneaking around cursed objects."

Hermione, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, smirked. "That sounds suspiciously like a date."

James waggled his brows. "I am an excellent fiancé, you know."

She laughed. "Well, how about we visit the Burrow? You still haven't met the twins."

James grinned. "Excellent. I need to assess the worthiness of these supposed future pranksters."

So, after lunch, they Flooed to the Burrow, arriving in the warm, slightly chaotic kitchen. Molly bustled over immediately, wiping flour off her hands and smiling warmly.

"Oh, it's so good to see you both!" she exclaimed. "Arthur's at the Ministry, but Merlin knows I could use a few extra hands."

Even before Hermione could ask what needed doing, an ear-piercing giggle from the living area answered the question.

James turned to see two tiny redheads, barely four months old, rolling across the floor like determined little explorers. Literally rolling. One of them—Fred or George, he had no idea—had made it nearly halfway across the room, while the other was working on an impressive turn to avoid bumping into the couch.

James let out a low whistle. "Oh, yeah," he whispered to Hermione, watching their antics with a mix of amusement and approval. "Worthy successors already."

Hermione snorted. "Told you."

Pandora was kneeling beside them, keeping an eye on their ambitious movements. She beamed up at them as they approached.

"Hermione! James! Oh, it's been too long!" she said warmly, standing to greet them. Hermione had no idea how she did that because Pandora had never actually met James before.

"James this is Pandora Ollivander, she is seeing Xenophilius Lovegood who just lives up the hill and is kind enough to sometimes come around and help Molly with the kids.

"Lovegood?" James questioned, tilting his head. "Editor of the Quibbler?"

Pandora laughed. "Yes, and it's Pandora Lovegood now actually. I suppose you wouldn't have heard—I married Xeno last month."

Hermione blinked, surprised. "Oh! Congratulations! I—well, I suppose I should've figured, but still. That's wonderful."

Molly sighed from the kitchen. "They eloped," she grumbled, though there was fondness in her voice.

"I call it efficient," Pandora said brightly. "We decided we didn't need all the fuss."

James smirked. "That's one way to do it."

For the next hour, they helped Molly wrangle the twins—who, despite their size, had the remarkable ability to make it impossible for anyone to sit still for long. Hermione had just settled one down when the other immediately began squirming, and James quickly learned that if you gave Fred an interesting enough object, he would somehow manage to lose it within minutes. Good thing Percy was always happy with a picture book.

Molly looked at them both with gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without extra hands these days. Arthur's busy, Bill and Charlie help where they can, but—" She sighed, rubbing her temples. "Well, it's been a madhouse."

As evening fell, they sat down for a much-needed break. That's when the door swung open, and Xenophilius Lovegood strode in to collect Pandora.

"Hullo, Xeno," Molly greeted, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Hermione, James," Pandora said cheerfully, "have you met my husband?"

James opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Xenophilius's wide eyes landed on Hermione's engagement ring.

His entire demeanor changed in an instant.

"That symbol—!" His voice was sharp, almost accusatory, as he pointed at her hand. "That's Grindelwald's mark!"

Hermione froze, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden shift in energy.

James frowned, lifting his hand in a placating gesture. "Actually, it's the Peverell family crest. It's—"

"It is what Grindelwald used," Xenophilius insisted, his eyes blazing with intensity. "He twisted it to his own purpose, but the world knows it as his mark."

Hermione exchanged a look with James. She could already tell that explaining magical genealogy wasn't going to do much to soothe Xenophilius's reaction.

"I understand your concern," she said carefully. "But the Hallows have nothing to do with Grindelwald."

Xenophilius scoffed. "Oh, that's what they want you to think."

James groaned. "I feel like we've entered a conspiracy discussion we didn't sign up for."

Pandora, ever the peacemaker, sighed. "Xeno, darling, we talked about this."

"That symbol has a legacy, Pandora!" Xenophilius turned back to Hermione, eyes still narrowed. "Do you even know what it represents?"

Hermione gave him a very even stare. "I do. And I assure you, I am not some secret Grindelwald devotee."

Xenophilius crossed his arms, looking as though he wanted to argue more, but Pandora gently took his arm. "Alright, alright," she said smoothly. "We really must be going, anyway."

Xenophilius huffed but didn't argue further. With one last wary glance at Hermione's ring, he allowed Pandora to lead him out.

Silence lingered for a moment after they left.

James let out a breath, shaking his head. "Well. That was unexpected."

Hermione rubbed her temples. "I don't even know where to begin with that."

Molly sighed. "You do have to admit, dear, most people don't know it as the Peverell symbol."

Hermione groaned, dropping her head into her hands. "Wonderful. I suppose now I have to worry about people thinking I'm a Grindelwald supporter."

James smirked. "I could always swap your ring for something else. We've got plenty in the vault…"

She gave him a flat look. "Not happening."

James chuckled. "Figured as much."

Despite the bizarre turn of events, the evening wound down pleasantly, with Molly fussing over them and making sure they left with enough food to last days. And as they finally prepared to Floo home, James leaned in and whispered with a grin, "What do you think, should we put the symbol on our wedding invitations?"

Hermione smacked his arm.

"Worth a shot," he said, laughing.

Later that evening, back at Potter Manor, Hermione was seated at one of the worn oak tables in the hidden grimoire library, books spread out in front of her, her quill scratching away at her notes. Candlelight flickered around the vast chamber, illuminating the towering bookshelves filled with centuries of carefully guarded Potter family knowledge.

James, however, was slouched in a chair nearby, arms crossed as he tipped his head back with a sigh.

"This is torture," he muttered.

Hermione glanced up, unimpressed. "Oh, don't be so dramatic."

"I could be anywhere else," James continued, staring at the ceiling as if it personally offended him. "I could be practicing Quidditch. I could be bothering Sirius. I could be—"

"You could let me access the library on my own," Hermione interrupted pointedly.

James sat up, leveling her with a look. "You know I can't. The library is blood-locked, and according to family tradition, only a Potter by name can access it."

Hermione huffed, rubbing her temples. "Yes, yes, I know. Which means I need you here for every research session until after the wedding." She paused. "Maybe waiting another year was a mistake."

James smirked. "Careful, love. Say things like that, and I'll have Mum planning the wedding for next month."

Hermione snorted but didn't argue. They both knew Effie Potter would be more than delighted to move the date up if given the slightest encouragement.

A comfortable silence settled over them, Hermione turning another page in one of the family's older texts. James let his gaze wander across the room, still somewhat bored, until his eyes landed on Hermione's ring.

And suddenly, it clicked.

"Oh, bloody hell."

Hermione looked up, startled by the sudden shift in his tone. "What?"

James sat forward, his mind racing. "The Hallows."

Hermione frowned. "Yes?"

James shook his head. "No, no, I mean—Xenophilius was going on about them today, remember? Well, more about Grindelwald, but anyway…"

"Can you get to the point?"

"Well," James said slowly, stretching his legs out. "We do know that Grindelwald was obsessed with the Hallows, right? He even used the symbol for his movement. And it got me thinking. Dumbledore—he duelled Grindelwald. He defeated Grindelwald. And his wand—his current wand. The one I disarmed him of?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she tried to follow his train of thought.

"It's made of Elder, Hermione."

Her breath caught. "Wait—"

"What if it's the Elder Wand?" James pressed. "The Death Stick? That would mean Dumbledore has been carrying around one of the Deathly Hallows all these years, and we never even knew it."

Hermione stared at him, stunned into silence.

James rubbed his jaw. "Think about it. We have the Cloak. We have—"

He paused.

"We have the stone," he said suddenly.

"What do you mean we have the stone?" Hermione demanded, now sitting up fully, eyes sharp.

"Eh, it was in the ring we destroyed yesterday, which makes sense since the Gaunts are descendants of Cadmus Peverell," James said with an easy shrug.

Hermione's mouth fell open. "You said it was completely destroyed."

James winced. "Right. So… about that."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, dark stone etched with the unmistakable symbol of the Hallows.

Hermione's jaw clenched. "James."

"It wasn't part of the Horcrux," James argued. "But the Horcrux is gone. The stone itself didn't burn up."

Hermione's hands twitched like she wanted to throttle him. "You absolute—why didn't you say anything?!"

James shrugged. "Didn't seem important at the time."

"Not important—" Hermione inhaled sharply, visibly reigning in her temper. "James Potter, you absolute menace. Give that to me right now."

But before he could hand it over, or Hermione could launch into a full-blown lecture about the dangers of keeping anything that had been even remotely connected to Voldemort, something strange happened.

One of the old grimoires—one they had never been able to open, no matter what spells or enchantments they tried, with or without the Cloak—suddenly began to glow. A soft golden light pulsed from its cover, the runes inscribed on it shifting as though responding.

They both froze.

"Uh… was that supposed to happen?" James asked.

Hermione's heart was pounding. She noticed a little indent on the cover that was shaped suspiciously like the stone. "Put the stone on it."

James hesitated. "You sure?"

"Now, James."

With a skeptical glance, he placed the Resurrection Stone in the slot on the grimoire. The moment it touched the cover, the glow intensified, spreading out like a ripple of energy, and the book's lock clicked open.

Hermione reached for it instantly, flipping it open to the first page. They both leaned over, eyes scanning the ancient text.

Their expressions shifted from curiosity to shock in an instant.

The book described the true nature of the Resurrection Stone—not just as a means to summon the souls of the dead, but something far more powerful.

"It says," Hermione whispered, running her fingers over the words, "that the stone can act as a sole cache—a way to capture wandering souls, forcing them into rest."

James blinked. "Meaning…?"

Hermione turned the page, her expression shifting from disbelief to sheer fascination. "It means that, in theory, if a soul is lingering in the mortal world—like a ghost—it could be captured and… forced into the afterlife."

James straightened. "So… you're saying we could get rid of ghosts?"

"Or trap them," Hermione murmured, her fingers tracing the text. "It doesn't specify whether the spirit has to be willing."

James let out a low whistle. "Well, that's equal parts fascinating and terrifying."

Hermione turned toward him, her eyes alight with an almost mischievous glint. "You know what this means, don't you?"

James grinned. "We could finally deal with Binns."

They stared at each other for a long moment before dissolving into laughter.

It was a ridiculous idea, of course—an impossible, unethical, and probably wildly dangerous idea. But in the absurdity of it, in the overwhelming weight of everything they had been dealing with, it was a welcome moment of levity.

"Imagine," James said between chuckles, "a Hogwarts without Binns droning on about the Goblin Rebellions."

Hermione wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "I can't believe we're sitting here, in a secret library, discussing the literal Resurrection Stone—and this is where our minds went."

James smirked but said nothing.

Amidst the joking, they had entirely forgotten the initial conversation about Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and the Elder Wand. Or the fact that James had disarmed Dumbledore.

And perhaps, for the moment, that was for the best.