Elphinstone Urquart and Albus Dumbledore apparated into the Ministry for Magic, carrying with them the bodies of Gideon and Fabian Prewett. Blood soaked the polished black marble of the Atrium floor.

Harry Underhill came running from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, his shoes loud against the floor, each footfall echoing off the high walls of the atrium. Far above, the glass ceiling showed that dawn was just rising. The atrium was empty now, but soon would be filled of people, bustling about their day.

The elevator dinged and from within it came Harold Minchum - the Minister for Magic himself - striding across the atrium and arriving mere seconds after Underhill had. Underhill was shaking his head, his face stony with carefully checked emotion as he stared, only half seeing through the shock and pain, at the bodies of the twins. Minchum barked orders for the guards to go and fetch the coronor and they hurried to heed. 

"Moody's out on a --" Underhill started, but Dumbledore interrupted.

"I sent a patronus to Alastor - he's on the way."

"What happened?" Minchum demanded.

"There was a fight," Dumbledore answered.

"Well I can see that there was a fight, Dumbledore, but what for, what's happened?"

"A girl was kidnapped by Death Eaters," Urquart supplied, "The twins responded."

"Fabian wasn't even on duty," argued Underhill.

"Yes but Gideon was and you know that you never see one without the other, Mr. Underhill," Dumbledore responded, his voice benign. 

Underhill glared at Dumbledore, his stomach twisting with anger at the tone of the older man's voice, and he turned to say something to Minchum but before he could there was a roar from the floos and Alastor Moody stormed out of one of the hearths, his wooden leg clunking as he walked as hurriedly as anyone had seen him do since he'd lost his limb. His expression was murderous as he walked, weighing heavily on his cane, both eyes fixed on the twins bodies.

Moody came to a stop two feet from them, staring.

Nobody dared to move and the silence got heavier and heavier the longer Moody stared at the bodies of the twins, his carved and grotesque face hard to read except for the stream of tears that poured forth from his real eye - the magical eye wasn't able to cry.

"They perished as heroes," said Dumbledore.

And in response, Mad-Eye Moody let out a roar of a broken lion, his voice echoing through the atrium with a resonating pain that everyone who heard it could feel deep in the hollow spaces between their bones.

When the sound finished, when Moody ran out of breath, he knelt clumsily, a motion that looked more like a fall to his one knee, the wood leg at an awkward angle, and he grabbed hold of the twin nearest to him, clutching the poor boy's head to his chest, and he burst out, "God damn you Prewett Two. God damn you! I specifically ordered you never to -- And YOU. YOU! Prewett One --"

"Al --" Urquart bent and placed a hand on Moody's shoulder.

Moody looked up at him. "Not another one, not another one --"

"I know Al," Urquart said.

Moody lay the body back down and he struggled to his feet with Underhill and Urquart's help. He looked at Minchum. "I want every god damn honor this Ministry has to offer bestowed on those boys," he growled, "I want every auror at the funeral. I want the god damn highest honorable respects. I want --"

"Alastor," Minchum cut him off, "They'll have it all. I swear it."

Moody's face was soaked with tears, and finally he broke, and Elphinstone Urquart grabbed hold of him and pulled Moody into his chest.

Minchum looked at Dumbledore. "Who did it?"

"Antonin Dolohov," Dumbledore said simply.

Minchum looked at Underhill. "Every auror in your department is on high alert for Dolohov. He is sentenced to Azkaban immediately. There will be no trial. You catch that son of a bitch and you book him and send him straight to the darkest cell in Azkaban there is." Minchum's voice was dark. "Let the dementors torture him for what he's done."

Underhill nodded and he turned, swiftly walking toward the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, already drawing his wand.

Minchum turned to Moody and Urquart, laying a hand on Moody's shoulder. 

Severus Snape stood on the street in front of a brownstone building, staring up at the open window high above. Pink gossamer curtains fluttered in a breeze. He held a parchment in his hand and he took out his wand, waved it over the paper, and it turned into a small bird - nothing like what the patronus had looked like - nothing so graceful or beautiful as that. He paused and held up his palm and watched as the bird flew up into the air - fluttering higher and higher - until it flew into the open window he'd seen so clearly in Gideon Prewett's mind.

The little bird flapped and spun in the breeze, which carried it into the room.

Dorcas Meadows sat in a rocking chair, clutching the baby, staring at the wall and waiting - knowing already what morning would bring. She'd barely dared to move, afraid of making it come sooner than it had to, not wanting it to be real. If she stayed still... if she stayed still enough, perhaps time would stop and it never would come - the moment when she would have to really know what she already knew.

The little paper bird's arrival caught her attention. She stared at it as it spun on the breeze, fluttering and finally falling to the floor. The charm that made it a bird ended with a puff of white smoke and it was just a bit of paper after all. Gingerly, carefully, she stood up and lay the baby down in her bassinet before she turned to pluck the paper up from the floor.

Morning glories. Page 47.

She stared at the words. Beneath them was a slash of ink, a divider, and at the bottom was written: His last thoughts were of you.

Dorcas closed her eyes.

She didn't even need to go to find the book. She knew what the note referenced all too well already... It was a small little clothbound book of poetry that had sat on her shelf for ages and ages. When they were young, they used to read poems to one another - she had dozens of books as a result, but this particular one - when he'd gone to become an auror and she'd told him she couldn't stand the worry of whether he would come home each night and they'd agreed to part ways, before boarding the Hogwarts Express for the final time after seventh year - he'd given the book to her with a marker already in it on the page. It was a book called Morning Glories by a writer named Josephine Delphine Henderson Heard, the poem was called "The Parting Kiss."

God how many times she'd read page 47 in the time they spent foolishly not loving one another?

Enough she had the poem memorized.

"We were waiting at the station,
soon the cars would surely start," 

Dorcas recited quietly, clutching the parchment, eyes still closed. 

"Hearts beat high with love's emotion,
for we knew we soon much part.
On dark lashes seemed to glisten

tiny crystal tear drops shine...

to the fond voice glad I listen,

while dear eyes look into mine...

And the last words quickly spoken,

Darling, still to me be true,

Let your promise be unbroken,

For I will be true to you..."

Dorcas's voice shook now,

"Once I felt the soft hand tremble,
And my heart throbbed with its bliss;

Lips that rose-buds did resemble,

Met in one last loving kiss.

"Sweet good-bye, do not forget me,
Spoken in the softest tone,

In your mem'ry, precious, keep me,
For my love is all your own.
I will ever be brave-hearted ---

Nothing shall your love efface:
One last kiss, and then we parted,

One last loving long embrace."

Dorcas stood silent, small squeaks of emotion escaping her as she held the paper tight in her hand.

The bell of her front door rang.

"Oh God," she whispered.