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❨ chapter ten. ❩
❛ and so it begins. ❜

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     AFTER MUCH CHAOS, the Hogwarts Express had finally left the Hogsmeade station an hour ago. Most of the seventh years had leaned out of their compartment windows to watch the turreted castle grow smaller and fainter until it all but disappeared from view.

     As they moved from the Highlands and into the rolling fields of England, breezing past a blur of lush countryside and gray, rain heavy sky, the ungodly summer rain continued pounding against the window of the compartment where the Marauders sat along with Lily, Marlene, and their friend from Ravenclaw, Aspen Kane. The seven of them just barely managed to fit into the cramped compartment, and the thought made Sirius smile as he reminisced about the first time he'd sat in one of these compartments, the way seven children had then comfortably lounged around playing exploding snap and exchanging chocolate frog cards.

     "Well, well, well," a strange, silvery voice said, rousing Sirius from his reverie. He whipped his head around to find that the compartment door had slid open, and a bunch of older Slytherin boys stood just beyond the threshold. "If it isn't the so-called Marauders and their girlfriends playing exploding snap. Reminiscing about your childhood?"

     They were, indeed, halfway through a round of exploding snap. James had remarked how he and Sirius had played the game on their way to Hogwarts back in their first year, only to learn that the rest of them too had passed time playing the volatile card game. Blaming nostalgia, Marlene had pulled out a deck of cards and soon, the seven of them were engrossed a ridiculously competitive game of exploding snap. No one revealed this bit of information to the short Slytherin boy who had spoken: Lazarus Mulciber.

     "Is there something you wanted?" asked Remus, his tone devoid of any emotion. "I fail to understand the reason behind this disruption."

     For an instance, Sirius thought he saw a flash of anger in Mulciber's eyes, but then he blinked, and Mulciber looked as unperturbed as ever. Sirius noticed, a little more gleefully than was strictly appropriate, that Mulciber's dark hair had thinned over the years, making his angular face appear even broader and unsuited to his stature.

     "We were walking back to our compartment when Amycus here," Mulciber pointed to a tall boy on his right whose skin looked thoroughly weather-beaten, "said something that made me stop and want to say hello."

     Sirius raised his brow. "I'm sure we're all flattered by your presence, Mulligan."

     "Mulciber," corrected the boy named Aziel Avery before Mulciber could stop him.

     "Yes, that's what I said: Mulrooney," replied Sirius, grinning at the sound of mingled laughter that came from behind him. "But remind me again, what was it this dolt said that made you stop?

     "Or better still, when will you leave?" asked Aspen from where she sat opposite Sirius.

     "Yeah, unlike some people, we've got better things to do than pester other students," added Peter defiantly.

     "Do you?" said Mulciber, his gaze lingering upon Lily and Aspen momentarily. "Well, I won't keep you from whatever it is you're doing. I just stopped to say goodbye. I'll miss your little antics, you know. I doubt we'll be seeing any more of each other from now on."

     Marlene laughed mirthlessly. "No, if anything, I think you lot will be seeing a lot more of us."

     Considering she was about to become an Auror, Sirius knew that she at least was likely to see these Slytherins – Death Eaters soon, if his hunch was correct – a lot more than the rest of them.

     "Nah, I don't think we will," croaked Amycus. When the people inside the compartment offered nothing but blank stares in return, the group of Slytherin boys made to retreat. Then –

     "Damn it, Yaxley," said Mulciber in a clipped tone, looking at a gaunt, blonde haired boy, "tell me you didn't touch the door handle?"

     The boy, who looked as though one good gust of wind would finish him off, nodded hesitantly. Mulciber shook his head, barely concealing his smirk as he added in a carrying voice, "Stupid boy. Do make sure to wash your hands on our way back, will you? I don't know what all has touched this door, but this compartment's obviously filthy, tainted by blood traitors and mudbloods and whatnot."

     There was a moment's silence, broken only by the steady beat of rain against glass and the rattling of the train as it hurled forwards. Then, in a flurry of motion, Sirius, James, Peter, Remus, Marlene, and Aspen had all leapt to their feet, reaching for their wands as they did so. Before any of them had so much as managed to utter half an incantation, however, Lily's voice rang loud and clear as she called out from the far end of the compartment, "That's oddly sweet of you, Mulciber, worrying about the poor kid's hygiene. I didn't think your post-Hogwarts ambitions included mothering other Slytherins – you didn't seem like the sort to want domestic bliss – but what do I know."

     There was another short silence, then Sirius and everyone around him burst out laughing, though none of them lowered their wands. The Slytherins all glowered at them.

     "That's right," hissed Mulciber, his voice dropping an octave, "what do you know, Mudblood – Potter, don't even bother hexing me, you'll regret it, and you know it." Mulciber had said it all in one breath. He paused, taking in a deep breath. No one moved. "I don't think it's hit any of you yet, but you're nothing special, and you're done with Hogwarts now. Dumbledore can no longer protect the likes of you, as you'll see in time."

     Whether 'you' referred to Muggleborns like Lily and Aspen, or blood traitors like James and Sirius himself, they did not know, and nor did they ask.

     "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" snarled Sirius, a memory of his brother saying something eerily similar to him just two weeks ago swarmed to the front of his mind. He pushed the thought aside angrily. "How's your daddy doing, huh, Mulgrave? What's he up to? Killed any Unspeakables lately?"

     Somewhere behind him, Remus muttered a warning 'Sirius!' which was drowned out by the sound of Mulciber's cold laugh. "You're full of questions, aren't you, Black? Well, now that you're finally stepping into the real world, I expect you'll get all your answers, and soon."

     "What do you mean?" asked Peter, frowning slightly.

     "What he means, porky, is that if I were you lot," began another boy whom Sirius knew as Amycus Carrow, "I'd've been very careful 'bout what I say and to who. You don' want to go 'round pissin' off the wrong people."

     James snorted. "At least you admit you're wrong."

     "Catch your silver linings while you can, Potter," came a hollow voice; a sallow faced boy, whom Sirius had not spotted until now, had spoken. His dark eyes scanned the compartment as he stepped forward, his greasy hair shifting as he moved to the front of the group. "You won't be getting much of those come tomorrow."

     "What do you mean?"

     It was Lily who had spoken this time, her tone sharp. Sirius hadn't noticed her getting to her feet and moving, but she now stood inches from him, her eyes trained on Snape's, who did not meet her gaze but stood scowling down his hooked nose at James. The air was thick with tension as they stood facing the group of Slytherins, wands drawn and brows furrowed, Snape's words hanging between them uncomfortably.

     Out of the corner of his eyes, Sirius could see other students standing a few feet from their compartment. The Slytherin boys seemed to have noticed this around the same time he did, for they lazily straightened themselves and stepped away.

     "What are you talking about?" repeated Lily, but she might have been a flobberworm for all the attention they paid her.

     "Enjoy your pathetic game," said Mulciber with a smile that displayed most of his pearly white, terribly straight teeth. His eyes lingered for a fraction of a second on Lily, just long enough for Sirius – who was closest to the entrance – to lose his patience at long last. He stepped forward and slammed the compartment door shut.

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     JULIETTE COULD HARDLY remember the last time she'd felt as carefree and happy as she did that day while strolling through Camden Market, her arms laden with shopping bags full of muggle trinkets, including a large set of colored pens, a variety of string lights, a handy cassette player, and tapes by musicians whose music she had never heard but whose names she had come across many times during her short existence in the Muggle world. Beside her, Penelope Bones, her dark hair swaying behind her as she walked, was also carrying a variety of shopping bags, though hers were noticeably fewer and smaller than Juliette's.

     "I can't remember the last time I had this much fun," Juliette admitted to Penelope as they rounded a corner and walked past hordes of busy Londoners.

     "And you wanted to stay home and watch Breakfast at Tiffany's," replied Penelope, a grin spreading across her face.

     "Sound of Music," corrected Juliette, shrugging as she added, "Besides, I only suggested it so you would have a chance to prove that you were, in fact, correct in thinking London would be more fun."

     Penelope gave a short laugh. "Why thank you for indulging my ego then."

     "An honor," grinned Juliette, ducking to shield her face from the fresh wave of rain which had begun quite suddenly. "But really, Penny, this was a lot of fun."

     Penny smiled brightly at her. "I sure am glad you think so. I've been meaning to get you out of that box you call home for ages now."

     Juliette rolled her eyes. "You make it sound as though I never leave my flat."

     "Leaving it for work or getting groceries does not count," Penelope pointed out, raising an elegant brow. They both knew she was right, obviously. Juliette quickly averted her eyes from the older woman's gaze, who now looked formidably curious. It was a look Juliette had noticed many times, and the questions that followed the expression were seldom ones Juliette had answers to. "How come you've never been exploring the city before?"

     "I never had anyone to go with," said Juliette after a moment's hesitation, and it wasn't entirely a lie either. "I didn't want to roam around a strange city by myself."

     Penelope sighed softly, and Juliette could almost feel her pitying gaze on her. She didn't think she could deal with another person's pity; she had had enough of that in her old life. It turned out, however, that Penelope wasn't one to go around telling people how sorry she felt for them. "Well, now I know how I'm going to spend my Saturdays."

     "How?" asked Juliette even though she had a pretty good idea.

     "Showing you around London, obviously," replied Penelope airily, "and maybe we can venture out into other cities too. I love Oxford in all it's quaint beauty. And Bath is lovely too, I'm sure you'd like it. Oh, we can also go punting in Cambridge next week! Semester will be over by then, and it'll be a lot less crowded. Sounds good?"

     Juliette nodded. "I'll follow you wherever. You know a lot more about England than I do, anyway."

     "I grew up here, so of course I do," shrugged Penelope, "Maybe you can show me around Wales one day."

     Juliette smiled, hoping Penelope assumed it meant Juliette was on board with the idea when, in reality, Juliette knew that was not very likely. Wales wasn't a particularly large country, and evading its thriving population of witches and wizards in an otherwise sparsely populated land was nearly impossible. True, her parents hadn't asked her to stay away, but the real reason why Juliette had moved to London was so she could leave her old life behind. It was in the hope that she could detangle herself from the gossamer threads that tied her to the Wizarding World; that perhaps here, in the overcrowded and bustling city of London, she would belong.

     The sound of thunder cracking the sky above drew Juliette's attention back to her surroundings. Penelope had led them down two more blocks while Juliette's mind had been otherwise diverted, and was still weaving her way through the crowd of weekend shoppers, careful to walk under the colorful and scalloped awnings that hung before many of the storefronts.

     "Where are we headed now?" asked Juliette. Her legs ached from having been on her feet since 9 that morning.

     "Train station," replied Penelope, pointing to a large sandy-colored building in the distance, its giant arched windows visible even from where they stood. "King's Cross is right up there, see? We'll go back the same way we came in: take a train back to a station nearest our building, then walk the rest of the way. It'll only take ten minutes to walk home from there, mind you."   

     Penelope continued to explain their route – the train numbers that went in the direction of their home, the passes that were the best bargain for them – but Juliette had stopped listening. A sudden cold washed over her that had nothing to do with the untimely summer rain that had plagued the entire week.

     King's Cross.

     Juliette wracked her brains to recall what day it was. Friday, she remembered, Friday, the 30th of June. It was the last Friday of the month, the day the students returned from Hogwarts. A quick glance at her wristwatch told her it was nearing 6pm. By this time, witches and wizards from across the country would be filtering into the station to slip surreptitiously through the magical barrier between platforms 9 ¾ and welcome their kids home.

     Here to take Lynette home, her own parents would be amongst them, and Juliette knew the last thing anyone wanted was for her to show up to the station unannounced. Though the urge to see Lynette, Ellis, and her parents was strong, she was surprised to find that the urge to escape the Wizarding World was somehow even stronger; the whispers and looks she was bound to receive was something she could happily live without for the rest of her life.

     "Isn't there any other way to get home?" asked Juliette quickly, her heart racing. Penelope gave her a surprised look, and Juliette hurriedly continued, "I just don't like traveling by train very much. It makes me sick, all that swaying and lurching."

     The lie rolled off her tongue far too easily. She felt a little guilty for lying to Penelope this way, but what choice did she have? She could not tell the other woman the reason why avoiding King's Cross, and thereby her family, was so important.

     "You don't like trains?" Repeated Penelope, a frown lining her graceful face. "Why didn't you say so earlier? When we took the train to get here?"

     "Oh, I didn't want to make a fuss," replied Juliette, hoping Penelope would mistake her flushed face for embarrassment and not the guilt that was causing it, "But I'm really tired now and, well, I don't think I could manage traveling through a train just now."

     "Oh," said Penelope blankly. "Well. . ."

     "You should go," Juliette interrupted before the other woman could say another word, "I'll find a bus or a taxi and get home. Don't worry."

      Penelope did not return Juliette's smile. "Don't be ridiculous. I can't leave you in the city like this, not when you've just admitted you don't like wandering around by yourself. No!" Penny held up a hand as Juliette started to protest. "We'll take a taxi home, alright? It'll be more comfortable anyway."

     "Penny–"

     "Taxi, alright?" repeated Penelope firmly but not unkindly, "I wish you'd told me sooner, Juliettte. We wouldn't have taken the train this morning either."

     Juliette mumbled something about not wanting to cause much inconvenience, but Penelope was only half listening. In two bold strides, she had crossed the sidewalk and stood at its edge, an arm outstretched. A few passerbys turned to watch her. Amongst the many things she'd learnt that day, Juliette had also found that people were often drawn to Penelope. They turned towards her, listened to her, followed her. With her tall, slim stature, and elegant manners, it wasn't difficult to see why she was the object of such fervent attention.

     Within a minute of Penelope holding her arm out, a black car had pulled up to the curbside, and Juliette found herself being ushered into the backseat by a beaming Penelope.

     "In you go," she said as Juliette climbed into the car and moved to make space for Penelope, who turned to the driver and said, "13 Maplebrook Street. Do avoid M25 if you can, hmm?"

     The car swerved as it pulled back into the road, leading them away from the crowded city. Yet even as it picked up speed, crossing the junction and speeding down the road beside King's Cross station, Juliette felt the familiar feeling of nausea churning her insides. Her hands began shaking where they lay in her lap, her heart beating against her chest almost painfully. Swallowing the lump rising in her throat, Juliette leaned her head back and let her eyes fall shut, willing herself to stop seeing the bright, crimson spots now dancing behind her eyelids.

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     ALICE FAWCETT STOOD outside the Deputy Head Auror's office, her hands wringing wildly as she debated which of her unfairly limited options would be least likely to end in disaster. Entering the Deputy Head's office right now seemed akin to stepping willingly before You-Know-Who's wand. She could return to her cubicle and wait for the storm to ebb, but then she would miss her deadline for submitting the Bulgarian Ministry's International Portkey Activation forms. She could just slip the forms under the door and hope it'd catch someone's eye, but she highly doubted she was lucky enough to pull that off. Perhaps she could leave it at Scrimgeour's desk. But what if he never returned to his cubicle, or left without seeing the forms? She did not want to jeopardize yet another mission; the Conway girl and Prewett brothers still joked about the time she had nearly compromised a mission by forgetting to send a memo to the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, resulting in a noticeable lack of Hit Wizards to back up the Aurors on the field.

     A loud bang sounded from inside the office, followed by more illegible shouts and roars. Whatever it was that the Head Auror, Deputy Head, and select senior Aurors were discussing inside, Alice did not want to know. It was well past five in the evening now, and all she wanted was to submit the bloody forms, go home, get some sleep, take a nice, hot shower, and leave for Bulgaria the following morning. Evidently, this was asking too much.

     "What's asking too much?"

     Alice snapped out of her daze and blinked, looking around for the source of the voice; she hadn't even noticed she was mumbling to herself out loud. Her eyes found the tall, burly form of Moody's assistant, a pretty boy with dark hair that fell into his eyes. She didn't know him, but she had seen him around the office several times, trailing behind Moody as the two zipped from one case to another (she hardly ever left her desk; Scrimgeour wasn't too fond of taking assistants with him out onto the field). She did know, however, that Moody's assistant sat on the opposite end of the floor, but thus far, she had had no reason to speak to him.

     "What were you talking about?" He asked again in a soft voice she nearly didn't hear over the ruckus ensuing just beyond the wooden doors they stood before. Hands deep in his pockets, his brown eyes were trained on hers as he waited for her answer.

     "Taking a shower," she blurted, saying the first thought that sprang to her mind and feeling her face flush the very next moment as the man did his best to stifle a grin. "I mean – home. I was thinking of going home, but I can't until I hand these in," she clarified, holding up the stack of papers clutched in her right hand. Seeing his raised brow, she added, "International Portkey Activation forms, for setting up the Portkeys to Bulgaria."

     "Ah, yes," the man nodded, "I heard there were some changes to how we were getting there. What happened to the Apparition plan?"

     "Outruled," said Alice with a sigh, "Scrimgeour insisted we use some other form of travel, one less monitored by the Bulgarian Ministry."

     "And they don't track Portkeys well?"

     Alice shook her head.   

     "How come?"

     "My guess is as good as yours," she admitted.

     "Weird," he mumbled under his breath, and Alice nodded. Having exhausted their quota of polite conversation, the two lapsed into an uncomfortable silence as words failed them, and still the shouting match raged on. Alice ran a hand through her short, dark tresses, her fingers catching in a day's worth of tangles. She felt the assistant's eyes on her, but whenever she risked a glance at him, she found his gaze trained on the floor instead.

     A particularly loud thump against the door made them jump.

     "What d'you reckon's going on in there?" asked Moody's assistant, looking a little anxious.

     Alice pondered for a minute then said slowly, "I can't say with any precision."

     "Take an imprecise guess, then."

     Alice gave a short laugh. "A disagreement?" she suggested as Angus MacDonald, the Head Auror, roared 'Not this again, ye daft man!'

     The assistant lifted an eyebrow. "You don't say."

     Alice merely shrugged, eyes darting from the assistant to the closed doors to her wristwatch, then repeating the action again. After several moments, during which Alice's ears picked up a slew of colorful curses in Moody's faint voice as it carried through the door – the imperturbable charm placed on the Head Auror's door had been wearing off steadily for a while now – the assistant broke the silence between them.

     "You're going on the mission to Bulgaria too, aren't you?" he asked. When Alice nodded, he added, "Well, guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow morning then, Fawcett. Goodnight."

     "'Night."

     He had walked more than a fair few paces when Alice finally registered that he called her 'Fawcett'; he knew her name. Bewildered, she ran after him.

     "Wait!" she called, skidding to a halt behind him. "How do you... I'm sorry, I don't... what's your name again?"

     The assistant looked at her with wide eyes. "You don't know my name?"

     Alice frowned. "Should I?"

     "No, I suppose not," the man laughed, shuffling his feet as he explained, "I just meant it's not a huge department, after all, and everyone knows each other, at least through other people. We all hang around here all the time, so I assumed. . ."

     Alice turned even redder, if possible. "Oh, I haven't been here long. It's only been a couple months since I finished training, and I haven't really had a chance to speak to many people either, so I – I don't know anyone," she finished lamely. Admitting she had no friends at work sounded worse than she had expected.

     "Oh," said the man blankly. Then, recovering quickly, he held out a scarred hand and gave her a bright smile. "Frank Longbottom."

     "Alice Fawcett," she told him as she took his hand. It was very cold.

     "I know," said Frank, "Everyone knows Scrimgeour's assistant. Rotten luck, by the way, being stuck with him of all people."

     Alice laughed. "It's not too bad."

     "Just not very nice either, I expect."

     "I'm going to keep my job and not answer that question."

     "In not answering you do sort of answer, don't you think?"

      Alice didn't reply. She offered the assistant – Frank – a shrug and what she hoped was a smile and not a grimace. Frank returned the gesture and opened his mouth to say something but what it was that he wanted to say, Alice would never know, for at that very moment, the doors to the Head Auror's office flew open and a dozen wizards stormed out from it. She caught a glimpse of Scrimgeour's thunderous face before he disappeared behind his cubicle. Alice exchanged a look with Frank, who looked as nonplussed as she felt.

     "FAWCETT!" Scrimgeour's voice suddenly echoed around the silent office. A couple of Aurors stopped in their tracks to glance around, evidently confused as to who 'Fawcett' was.

     With a sinking feeling, Alice gripped her papers tighter to her chest and turned to smile wryly at Frank, who mouthed a 'good luck' to her. With an appreciative nod, Alice whipped around and made her way over to Scrimgeour's desk, dreading whatever lay awaiting her.

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