Never All Together

Chapter 20: There is a War

May it be the evening star shines down upon you
May it be when darkness falls
Your heart will be true.
You walk a lonely road.
Oh, how far you are from home!
Darkness has come
Darkness has fallen
A promise lives within you now.

--- Enya (May It Be) ---

"Moony, can you please lend me your Advanced Potion-Making?" Peter said tentatively.

Remus lifted his blue eyes from the text on his lap, although with much difficulty. He normally did not tolerate any form of nuisance whenever he was engrossed in reading, but he made exceptions for his friends. "Why, whatever happened to your book?"

"I splattered it with bubotuber pus," Sirius answered flippantly, leaning back into the couch and crossing his legs elegantly. At Remus' raised brow, he added, "Accidentally, of course. And I didn't know the pages would shrivel up."

Snorting in amusement, Remus said, "Well, at least you've added something to your arsenal of knowledge. And Peter, my book's still with Regina." He nodded towards the couch by the fire.

Sirius groaned at the sight of the girl reading and looked around the common room. His fellow Gryffindors were hard at work as well, and he slumped in his seat in disgust. "Moony, tell me. Did you inspire this sudden bout of studying?"

"No. It's just that time of the year, Padfoot," Remus replied patiently, turning his book to the next page. "It comes around like flu during April, and you've always been rather naive to it. Even now, with our N.E.W.T.s fast approaching."

Peter waited for Sirius to have his say, but when the black-haired boy merely rolled his eyes, he jumped at the opportunity to speak. "Er--Remus, can I have it when she's finished?"

"Of course." Remus did not look up this time.

"You can get it right now if you want, you know," Sirius said dryly. "It looks like she's busy with something else."

Peter turned to look at Hermione, and even Remus paused from his reading to see what Sirius was talking about. The three watched as she held her palm up to her face and gazed at something apparently resting on it; she toyed with it for several more moments before taking her wand out and prodding whatever it was. Peter gave a little squeak of surprise when, in the blink of an eye, Hermione was grasping a parchment. Her lively brown eyes danced over the page, and she smiled; she tapped it with her wand once again, and the parchment vanished.

"That's good magic," Peter said appreciatively.

"It's not even remotely useful," Sirius grumbled, still smarting from Remus' earlier comments. "I mean, sure, if you need to conjure one to make airplanes and attack Snivellus with, yeah."

Remus smiled. "She didn't Conjure anything, Padfoot. She merely Transformed one object to another. I wonder what it is."

As if on cue, Hermione closed the book, stood up and walked over to them. She handed Remus the book with her left hand, her right in a fist. "Thanks for the book, Remus. If you don't mind, can I borrow your Advanced Transfiguration tomorrow night?"

"Only if you tell us what's that you're holding," Remus answered with a mischievous smile. "We saw you playing with it a while ago."

The stunned look on Hermione's face dissolved into a sheepish smile. "Oh, this?" She laid her palm open to three pairs of eyes; on it was a tiny doll that resembled her.

"That's you," Peter said, stricken. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Don't tell me you're now learning dark magic?"

Really! Hermione pursed her lips in slight annoyance. "No, Peter," she said. "James made it and gave it to me at lunch." She retrieved her wand from her pocket once again and briskly tapped the doll. "It becomes a parchment, see."

Sirius grunted, reflecting once again on how silly his best friend had become over Regina. He might already be tolerant of this romantic relationship, but that didn't mean he could not make fun of it as much as he could. "I guess it doubles as a love letter?"

"No!" Hermione exclaimed immediately. She tapped it hurriedly; the parchment returned to being a doll, and she slipped it into her pocket. "Of course not."

"Of course not," Sirius repeated with a smirk, and Remus elbowed him to keep him quiet. "Perhaps it's the nightly schedule of books you need to borrow from Moony to ace the exams?"

Hermione stared in disbelief for several seconds before lowering her head in apparent embarrassment. "I'm turning in. Good night."

She turned on her heels and started to walk away, but Peter called, "So it's a letter?"

"A love letter, obviously." Sirius' tone left no doubt that it wasn't a question, and Hermione stopped in her tracks.

All three of them were grinning roguishly. Hermione didn't know whether to smile or snort, but the scales tipped to amusement, and she shook her head in resignation. That seemed to encourage Peter to make another wisecrack, for he said, "Aren't you going to wait up for James?"

The name alone brightened Hermione's smile. "I wanted to, but if you are going to give me a difficult time about it..."

"Right, we'll stop then," Sirius said, holding up both hands in surrender. "James won't forgive us if he hears we've failed to do as his lady wishes." He chuckled, gestured to the couch and added, "Go ahead. Be our guest."

Hermione laughed at Sirius' words. "When you put it that way..." She walked back to them and plopped down beside Remus, cautiously waiting for them to speak anew.

Remus turned to her and softly enquired, "So it was actually a love letter?"

"I can't believe it!" Hermione complained, slapping Remus playfully on the arm. "You, of all people, broke your promise not to ask me about it!"

"Sirius has this habit of making plans and promises for the rest of us," Remus reasoned out. "But without getting sidetracked, was it really a love letter?"

Hermione sighed and relaxed on the couch in confession. "Yeah." She briefly closed her eyes and, with a dreamy smile on her face, repeated, "Yeah."

"What does it say?" Peter asked eagerly.

"It says he loves her, of course," Sirius replied, striving to keep his sarcasm to a minimum.

"I knew that," Peter said in a huff. "But there's got to be something else, right?"

Remus glared pointedly at Peter. "Now that's none of our business." But his blue eyes kept darting little glances at Hermione, who seemed oblivious to them.

Sirius, meanwhile, was also occupied with watching Hermione, noting how she kept exhaling little breaths as though trying to contain her giddiness. I wonder... When his eyes locked with hers, and Sirius realised with startling clarity that the sparkle in those dark orbs were exactly like James's while they were standing in front of that dark mirror. A wry smile escaped Sirius. Could he already have told her?

"Frankly, I didn't expect James to be that creative," Remus was saying, and Sirius tuned back in. "The last time he made a doll, it was of Snape."

That made Hermione laugh again. "I actually made him one first, one that looked like him and could turn into a letter. I gave it to him on his birthday."

"So that was why he decided to make one himself," Peter concluded, the realisation dawning on him. "They must match then, like figures atop a wedding cake!"

Sirius dropped his legs from the table in surprise, and Hermione straightened in her seat.

"W-w-wedding?" Hermione sputtered.

"Wedding cake? James has told you he wants to marry Regina?" Sirius interjected, visibly rattled. "And you're already thinking about the reception!"

Peter gaped in shock as he attempted to understand Sirius' prattle. "James told me what?"

"What did James tell you?" Hermione demanded from Sirius, astonished.

Sirius scratched his head, dumbfounded; as his mind cleared, he felt increasingly more stupid. "So James has not told you anything yet?"

Peter simply continued staring at the black-haired Marauder in confusion.

"Wait," Remus intervened, looking slightly befuddled himself. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we?" He glanced at Peter. "You said something about a wedding cake--"

"Because of the dolls," Peter supplied helpfully.

Remus nodded. "And then everybody went berserk."

"I did not," Sirius denied, running a hand through his hair in a show of nonchalance.

Remus rolled his eyes. "Right. You just reacted too strongly then."

"Sirius," Hermione began earnestly.

He eyed her warily.

"Did James really say he wanted to marry me?"

Remus inwardly flinched at the expectant smile and at the soft, hopeful expression illuminating her face. He turned to Sirius. "Did he indeed?"

Sirius smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand and groaned. "This is not the way Prongs would have wanted you to find out."

Hermione chewed thoughtfully at her lower lip before saying, "So he did say that? Really did?"

"Yeah." Now James is really going to kill me.

"Oh." It was all she could say. Hermione laced her fingers together and leaned back on the couch, trying to hide a smile she could not. She kept her eyes on the carpet, suddenly feeling too shy to look at the Marauders.

"Wow," Peter breathed. "Wow."

Remus had to lick his lips several times before being able to speak. "How did you know, Padfoot?"

Sirius shrugged. "You don't need to know that," he answered glibly, eliciting a rare frown from Remus. "I don't have any intention of giving away anything else. But what I know, Regina--"

Hermione looked up in curiosity.

"--is that you make my best friend happy. Very happy, in fact, that he can see sharing his future with you."

Flushed and aware that they were waiting for her to say something, Hermione wondered how best to respond. It was too much to take in all at once. James wants me as his... She swallowed nervously. Wife? Why was she so surprised? This was what she had come back for, wasn't it? Yet four months ago, while making the Time-Turner, had she even entertained such wild imaginings? Walking down the aisle with him, clad in a splendid white dress, pledging to love him forever...

It was bliss, pure bliss, and Hermione knew she should feel as though she was soaring through the clouds, but something was weighing her down. Either that, or the clouds were grey. She tucked a lock of hair behind one ear as she thought hard.

"You're daydreaming," Peter teased, amused by the rapidly shifting emotions showing on her face.

Despite herself, Hermione smiled faintly at Peter's jibe. He might be a traitor in her day, but tonight he was just a boy, a true-to-mould Marauder when it came to humour.

"About me, of course," a voice that was distinctly James's inferred. Starting guiltily, the four turned to see him towering shortly over them before sliding beside Hermione, whose eyes were still lost in her own musings. James immediately reached for Hermione's left hand and held it in his, glancing around at his friends. "So what have you been up to?"

"Studying," Sirius answered promptly, grabbing one of the books on the table, flipping it open and pretending to read. If he could avoid talking to James tonight, he would be in the clear.

James sniggered. "It's upside-down, Padfoot." He nudged Hermione to get her attention and said, "Don't tell me you've been studying too?"

Hermione found it difficult to look into James's eyes--or to even breathe or speak with him beside her, for that matter. It was as though the awkwardness that could only be brought about by a new relationship had come over her again. "Until a few minutes ago, yes," she answered anyway, her words barely above a whisper.

Perhaps sensing her discomfort, James raised his other hand and lightly touched her cheek; he was surprised to find it warm. "You're blushing."

At these words, he felt her skin heat up. Puzzled, he asked, "Did something happen?"

She angled her head so that she wasn't looking at him, so that she could avoid those hazel eyes that were gazing at her with so much love and tenderness. "It's nothing, James."

"Hmm. You must be tired, having to wait up for me." He cupped her chin and turned her face back so he could see her better. "But you don't look tired," James commented, now tracing her jaw line with his index finger.

Hermione smiled faintly. "What then do I look like, James?"

"Beautiful, as always," James answered, punctuating his statement with a quick kiss, "but more so this time. Like a... like a bride or something." The words were out of his mouth before he had decided on their wisdom, and they recalled to mind the image he had seen in the mirror. But to say it like that! James scolded himself in panic.

Unbeknownst to them, the other Marauders had abandoned all pretence of reading and were listening more carefully to their conversation.

Never before had her heart pounded so loudly. So it was true then, what Sirius had said. Nonetheless, she pushed his glasses up his nose and grinned, deciding to make light of the situation. "A bride? I didn't think you could improve on your flattery, James, but that was the most lovely compliment you've given me."

"I meant it, Regina," James asserted. Better to have her think I'm going too far than that I'm being dishonest. He reached into his robes and pulled out a sprig of flowers, an assortment of roses and chrysanthemums he'd obviously picked from the grounds. "Oh, this is for you."

"Thank you," Hermione automatically said, taking them and smiling coyly up at him. "But what are these for?"

James dusted a kiss on her nose. "Nothing, really. It's just that they're beautiful, and so are you."

Hermione stiffened, her breath catching; she had definitely heard those words before.

"Don't you like it?" James asked worriedly. "I picked them myself, if you want to know. I didn't Conjure them out of nowhere."

Hermione suddenly wrapped her arms tightly around him, realising once again how lucky she was. So sweet and thoughtful. Is this why it had seemed so familiar then? "I like it, James. I like it very much. Thank you." She brushed his lips with hers and then said, "Is it okay if I turn in now?"

"Of course, love. Whatever you want." James stood up with Hermione, their hands still clasped, and walked her to the bottom of the staircase leading to the girls' dormitory. He enfolded her in an embrace and kissed her good night several times before letting her go with murmurs of sweet nothings.

Upstairs, after what felt like hours of tossing in her bed and unable to coax her mind into sleeping, Hermione sat up and hugged her knees to herself. Whatever thoughts that had earlier been bothering her had been as usual swept aside by James. Inside her head, all she could now see, like some Muggle film playing over and over, were scenes of her and James living the rest of their lives together. There she was, rushing to meet James as he stepped out of the fireplace after work. He would sit at the table she had prepared, and though in reality she was not particularly adept in cooking, he would reward her efforts with an earth-shattering kiss and... Hermione blushed in the darkness. And Merlin, she could imagine children running around the house--two at least, maybe three. She sighed as contentment flowed through her, grabbing her pillow and holding it close to her chest. It would be a good life.

Is this what fate has in store for me?

Oh, please. Didn't you challenge fate, a second voice sneered, proclaiming yourself as master of your destiny?

I was right, wasn't I? Hermione retorted, however shiftily. Would fate have allowed me this liberty if it wasn't meant to happen?

Cold, cynical laughter filled her ears. And what of the others' fates, intertwined with yours, that you've played with? What will happen to them?

You mean Lily and... Hermione frowned. Strange how difficult it was to remember his name now. And Harry, of course. You mean them, don't you? At this reminder of the guilt she should be bearing, Hermione's fingers at once went to her collarbone, caressing herself with widowed sensuality. It was warm without the cold glass nestled at its heart, and the warmth strengthened her resolve.

Perhaps you sold it on purpose? the voice mocked.

"I did not," Hermione said, breaking the silent argument. "I did it for James, and also because I had no use of it anymore. There's no way I'm going back."

The phantom that had invaded her head had the nerve to cackle. Where has your logic gone, Hermione Granger? Where has your conscience disappeared to? Or has Regina Weisz done away with both?

Ignoring the disturbing questions, Hermione replaced her pillow and slid back under the covers, pulling them up to her chin and staring at the ceiling. It's Potter, she corrected. Hermione Potter. And then, almost as an afterthought, That means I have to tell him sooner or later who I really am.

Somehow, with the assurance of his love, the idea of finally being able to be honest with him didn't seem as frightening at it should have been. He will understand. I know he will, Hermione thought as she drifted off to sleep.

* * * * * * *

Several days passed. Hermione had yet to find an instance where she could talk to James--or rather, she had yet to muster enough courage to say the truth she shouldn't have hidden in the first place. It was more difficult in the bright of day, she found, and she felt her resolve weaken to the point that she had almost decided not to tell him anymore. What harm was there in remaining Regina Weisz forever?

There wasn't any, at least none very pressing. It wasn't difficult to imagine sailing through the rest of her life under a name that wasn't hers as long as she kept her identity safe. And that she did... somehow. She still studied as of old, laughed the way she used to, loved as much as she did. Deep within, she knew she was still Hermione Granger.

Minus the rational mind, perhaps, but never had she been happier.

After that night in the common room, during which Sirius had unwittingly revealed James's plans of marrying her, Hermione had noticed a marked increase in the Marauders' watchfulness over her. She had to fight the urge to giggle whenever she caught Remus or Sirius checking her hands for any sign of a ring, with Peter doing so less conspicuously.

"Stop staring, Peter," Hermione chided gently, making the boy squawk and turn red. "I haven't got any ring yet."

"I, well, I only thought... It's been a week, after all." Peter cast a significant look at Sirius, who merely shrugged.

"Hey, I didn't say Prongs planned on asking her anytime soon."

This time, it was Hermione whose cheeks flushed at the idea that she was indeed expecting a proposal from James. Why did the details of her relationship with James have to be out in the open? I guess it really can't be helped. Having James as a boyfriend is almost like having three others. She sighed.

"Don't sound so depressed," Sirius said.

Hermione glanced up in surprise, ready with a nasty comeback, but did a double take when she realised that Sirius' smile was actually meant to reassure her. "Er--thanks, but I'm not. Really," she added after being appraised for another moment.

Sirius tilted his head to the left, causing his hair to fall across his forehead in an attractive heap. "James has a lot on his mind right now, what with Quidditch practice and everything. I'm sure you understand."

Quidditch, Hermione thought wearily, briefly reminded of Ron and Harry. It's all they think about. "Of course I do. James wants the Quidditch Cup so badly, and what with our N.E.W.T.s around the corner, he's got his hands full."

"Not to mention preparing for a career after Hogwarts," Remus added agreeably, a book on his lap.

She considered that. "All of you have taken the required classes for Auror training, haven't you?" Hermione asked. "You've all decided then?"

"The best students in Hogwarts have taken them," Sirius answered, "and we're all applying for Auror training after a few weeks or so."

A wistful smile crossed Hermione's lips as she pictured James as an Auror, aware that he would be the best in the not-so-distant future.

"But James isn't sure he wants to be an Auror, at least not yet," Sirius continued. "He's received invitations from at least three international Quidditch teams, so he might choose to play professional instead."

"Oh." Hermione wondered why she didn't know that. "But I'm sure James would rather be an Auror," she said confidently.

Sirius raised his eyebrows in obvious doubt but said, "Well, if this war against Voldemort goes on, we'll probably need more Aurors than the Ministry can make them."

At these words, Remus stopped reading; the four of them stared into nothingness, suddenly lost in their own thoughts. Earlier that day, the Daily Prophet reported that two more senior Aurors had been killed in combat in a village near Lancashire. Being students, their consciousness of the war was inevitable, but its threat still seemed far to them, barely having come of age and having been protected within the walls of Hogwarts. Sometimes though, they pondered on the garish reality of war: what did it feel like to use magic to kill, to shed blood, to lose a loved one?

Hermione snapped out of her musings and studied the pensive faces of the three Marauders. There is a war. I've forgotten that there was a war, and now I've landed right in the middle of it. How strange that she had to witness--and maybe even live through--this, her knowledge of the future unable to allay her fears that in the end, everything would turn out for the better... but not before peaking to their worst.

"Maybe the Ministry is fighting Vol... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named--" Peter stuttered.

"Voldemort," Sirius and Remus corrected in unison, the former rather irritably.

"Maybe they are fighting him the wrong way," Peter finished in a weak voice, ignoring their rebuke. "Maybe there isn't supposed to be fighting in the first place."

"What do you mean?" Sirius glowered suspiciously at the smaller boy.

Hermione smiled sadly, watching them spar through words. Already Peter was looking for an easier way out.

History has begun.

* * * * * * *

Even so, Hermione marvelled at the normality with which life at Hogwarts proceeded. The Gryffindor common room was filled with people studying until one in the morning, their foreheads wrinkled with concentration as though nothing short of Voldemort could distract them. Even without the prospect of exams, James had his hands full. With less than a month before the Quidditch finale featuring Gryffindor and Slytherin, he had stretched their team's scheduled practices to the limit.

Hermione wondered at this as she watched the team zoom around in blurs of red and gold on Wednesday night, knowing that Gryffindor was two hundred points up and that the team was more inspired than ever with the Bullet in their midst.

Katherine clutched the Quaffle tightly under her arm as she sped towards the hoops, George flying in the same direction but staying several feet from her. They zigzagged towards their goal; Katherine hurled the Quaffle towards George, who accelerated as he faked left. Matthew Witte, the Gryffindor Keeper, fell for it, too far gone to save the ball that was sailing past him to the right hoop. Neil, however, aimed the Bludger at the Quaffle just in time to alter its course, and both Katherine and George yelled in frustration. Apparently, James had teamed up the three Chasers and had put the two Beaters and the Keeper together.

James blew the whistle that hung around his neck, startling even Hermione, who was admiring the athletic grace with which the players moved in the air.

"Excellent defence!" James called, signalling for them to halt play and calling for a short huddle in the air. After five minutes, they landed, their feet lightly touching the ground. Hermione waited as James, still riding his broom, sailed towards her while his teammates headed for the shower.

"Hi," James greeted, his face split in the goofy, confident grin that never failed to make Hermione smile.

"Hi. Here, have this." Hermione rummaged in her pocket for the handkerchief she had brought and reached out to dab James's sweaty face with it.

Surprised but rather pleased, he covered her hand with his and guided it from one cheek to another. "Thanks."

Hermione blushed. "That was a good play up there," she commented.

"I know," James said proudly. "Great offensive thrust, but better defence. We've been coming up with plays like that for days now."

"I can't see any reason why you would lose," Hermione said.

"Me too," James bragged, puffing his chest out, and she laughed. "By the way, what are you doing here?" he innocently asked.

Hermione swatted him on the arm. "You asked me to watch you play, you idiot. And you promised to take my flying after."

"Did I now?" James got off the broom and sat beside her. "I seem to have forgotten," he teased.

"Maybe whacking your head with the broomstick will jog your memory," she threatened, a glint in her eye.

James swiftly pulled her to him in an embrace, and Hermione at once rested her head on his chest. As she felt him ensnare his fingers in her hair, she tickled his waist. "Do you remember now?"

"A little," James said. "But maybe a kiss will completely do the trick."

Hermione looked up and edged away. "And you think you're going to get it that easily?"

"Won't I?" James inched closer, closing the gap between them. "All I have to do is this--" He cupped her face firmly in one hand. "This--" He lowered his head, and just when he was about to claim her mouth, whispered, "And this." He felt her smile as he nibbled on her lower lip before completing his invasion, and Hermione flung her arms around his neck, clinging to him with her head tilted back as though she were drowning. When they paused for breath, James murmured, "Well? That was easy, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Hermione sighed, her eyelashes struggling to flutter open.

"So, do you still fancy that ride?"

"Well, you promised me." She had finally managed to open her eyes, gazing at the hazel ones above her. "But I guess this is just as good as flying. No--better. Incredible."

"What can I say? I always keep my promises." He kissed her again and again, touching her more intimately each time, and as they held each other, the settling darkness heightened each sensation.

It was already a little half past seven when Hermione remembered that both of them were supposed to be inside the castle for dinner.

James groaned against her earlobe. "How can you think about food at a time like this?"

"Believe me, I'd hate for the Head Boy to get into trouble just because he lost track of the time."

He uttered a low chuckle, sweeping brown locks from her forehead before kissing her there and settling her more comfortably on his lap.

"James," Hermione admonished, "we're supposed to be getting ready to leave, not getting more comfy."

He shushed her with his lips and carried her as he mounted the broom, both his legs swinging from one side. At her raised brows, he said, "I'd hate to see the one the Head Boy loves stumble around just because she's intoxicated with his kisses."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "How you can be both arrogant and sweet is still beyond me."

James urged the broom up with one hand even as the other pressed her middle to him. "But you find it charming, no doubt."

"Yes, very." Hermione leaned over and kissed him, but he quickly pulled away, shaking his head.

"Not now. You'll get me drunk, and we can't have that when we're flying."

Hermione giggled and put her arms around him instead as they made their way back to the castle, the broom hovering only several feet from the ground. The rest of the ride was comfortably silent, a light breeze matching the solemnity of night. James touched down at the doors to the castle and helped Hermione to her feet. They entered the castle hand in hand and immediately headed for the Great Hall, where they expected dinner to be in full swing.

But no laughter and noisy conversation greeted them; even the clink of silverware was muted, as though they were being handled with utmost care. It was evident that something was amiss. James scanned the rows of House tables, noting that the hall seemed to be significantly lacking in people. He clutched Hermione's hand more tightly, and she squeezed his in return.

Spotting the Marauders, they walked towards them and sat on the benches. The look of relief on Remus' face was in itself alarming. "We thought both of you had been called in as well," he said.

"Where are the other students?" James asked, setting the Bullet on the floor. "Have they gone missing?"

"Their Heads of Houses called them," Remus answered, worried. "Something must've happened, but Professor Dumbledore hasn't said anything yet." They glanced at the High Table and saw that the Headmaster's seat was empty.

"Have something to eat first," Peter offered, pushing a plate towards them. Hermione shook her head and touched James's shoulder; she had just seen Professor McGonagall emerge from a chamber behind the High Table. Her face was especially sombre as she approached the centre of the hall and raised a palm for attention.

The murmurs occupying the room first escalated before hushing, all faces turning towards the Deputy Headmistress in anticipation of the news.

"This afternoon," Professor McGonagall began, enunciating each word clearly, "Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade were simultaneously attacked by Death Eaters." Horrified gasps erupted from the students; she paused, as though the time would let some of the terror dissipate, and continued, "More than two hundred people died, and many more are wounded. Some of the victims are your schoolmates' relatives, and the Headmaster is currently arranging the students' travel home. At the same time, it is his express wish that I tell you this, not to frighten you--"

Sirius scowled at his younger brother, sitting at the Slytherin table with an expression of despicable contentment.

"--but to warn you and make you understand the necessity of more stringent security measures." Professor McGonagall's eyes swept the entire room. "No student will be allowed out of their common rooms after eight o'clock, and no student will be allowed wandering out of the castle after six in the evening."

Hermione half-expected James to complain about Quidditch, but his jaw was clenched and he was listening with rapt attention.

"The Forbidden Forest is by all means, out-of-bounds. Aside from our Head Boy and Girl, the Prefects and my colleagues will also patrol the school at night to ensure that nothing untowardly happens." She pressed her lips together, and went on. "Are there any questions?"

Nobody spoke. Each one was deep in their own speculations of how terrible the day's ordeal had been. Almost every pair of eyes were filled with tears, the compassion for the afflicted almost tangible. The tragedy had struck home.

"If there aren't any, then please return to your dormitories immediately. Everyone--" Professor McGonagall announced, "except the Head Boy and Girl and the Prefects. The Headmaster requires a meeting with you."

James, who had not spoken since Professor McGonagall started, turned to give Hermione a quick peck on the cheek before standing up. "I'll see you later."

Hermione snatched three sandwiches from the platter just before it vanished. "Don't worry about dinner; I'll save two for you." He flashed her quick smile before striding away.

She and the rest of the Marauders climbed their way to the Gryffindor tower along with the other students, some of whom had now gotten over their initial shock--at least enough to air their concern that Hogwarts might be attacked soon.

Nobody in the common room was sleeping early that night, but nobody was studying either. Hermione heard a fifth-year wonder how just how many bombs were necessary to shatter Hogwarts' walls, and she crossed her arms in annoyance.

"Have any of you read Hogwarts, A History?"

Peter, Remus and Sirius all looked at her as though she had just informed them that Hogwarts had been attacked.

"It won't be in the N.E.W.T.s," Sirius said scornfully.

"I know it won't be," Hermione shot back, her nerves frayed. "Remus? Have you?"

"Er--yeah," Remus admitted, turning pink. "But why did you ask?"

"Because I was hoping that somebody besides me knew that the castle is protected by more than just walls," Hermione said, her voice a shade supercilious. "Many enchantments have been placed on it, and I imagine Professor Dumbledore will strengthen them even more. So I think that the last thing we need right now is panic. It makes people do stupid things."

Sirius countered, "How come you've read Hogwarts, A History before you came here?"

Hermione was surprised; his question came from nowhere. "I did some background check, that's all," she answered evasively.

"So Hogwarts isn't in danger?" Peter asked, wanting to be sure.

"Of course it is," Hermione said impatiently. "We're in the middle of a war." That severity of the situation, of the time she had come back to, hit her the moment news of the attacks did. "But we're not in any more danger than before."

"On the contrary," Remus volunteered quietly, "if Voldemort wants to spread terror by killing people, then wouldn't a massacre of students work for him? The slaughter of the innocents?" They mulled over that one, and Remus continued, "Besides, I think that we, of all people, know that there are chinks in Hogwarts' defensive armour." He smiled wryly. "So I guess Hogwarts isn't as tough as stronghold as it is the books."

Hermione immediately understood what he was implying. "Well, for everybody's safety, I guess you'll have to give up the map."

"That's crazy," Sirius objected at once. "We worked too hard to make that. Besides, I'm confident we're the only ones who know about the secret passageways. Not even Filch knows about them. And we can even use the map to watch out for intruders, so we're definitely not giving it up."

Hermione started to protest but thought better of it. "Never mind. It doesn't matter to me right now." She unwrapped one sandwich and started to eat; halfway through it, James arrived with a tray of steaming cups of hot chocolate.

"One for everyone," James announced, setting the tray on the table and sitting beside Hermione. She looked over her shoulder and saw that Lily and the Prefects had returned with James and had joined their own friends. She took out the remaining sandwiches and offered those to him, which he accepted gratefully.

"So what happened?" Sirius enquired, allowing James but one bite of his food.

James swallowed, gulped some of his drink and wiped his mouth. "Basically what Professor McGonagall said at dinner. Except that..." He frowned. "Dumbledore said something about the deaths being unintentional, that the Death Eaters were in actuality looking for something."

"Which is...?" Remus prompted, taking a sip from his own cup.

"He didn't say." James took another swig of the chocolate.

Horcrux. The answer came straight away to Hermione. She set her drink back on the table, her hand trembling. "Did they find it?"

"Nobody knows. Nobody's even sure Voldemort sent them to look for it anyway, whatever it is. But the Headmaster seems really convinced that Hogwarts will be attacked soon, and he's never struck me as a man prone to paranoia." James bit into his bread and chewed on it pensively.

"So you think Voldemort wants something that's hidden in Hogwarts," Remus concluded. "An object of power, obviously."

James didn't answer this time, and Hermione sensed he was holding something back. She cupped his elbow, and he turned to look into her eyes, his own distraught.

"Neil's mum worked in a shop in Diagon Alley," he murmured, his jaw tightening. "She's the only parent he's got, and she's dead now..." His voice slightly cracked, but James mastered his emotions. "And he's only fourteen. I can't imagine having to go through that myself. If it were me..." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "If it were me, I'd want to finish Voldemort off myself. I'd hunt him down and kill him."

They were all shocked at his vicious judgment, but James didn't say anything else. He hastily and savagely finished his dinner, seemingly to avoid any more talk of what had happened.

Later that night, James walked her to the stairs to her dormitory and embraced and kissed her with fierce intensity as though he never wanted to let her go, and Hermione intuitively knew that something had changed within him.

It was most ominous.

* * * * * * *

The eerie stillness persisted in Hogwarts over the next few days, the uneasy tranquillity preceding an impending disaster. Dumbledore had assured the students and the public that the wards protecting the castle had been strengthened, and true to their word, the professors vigilantly patrolled both the indoors and outdoors every night. Professor McGonagall visited the common room every night and randomly called out names as though she were merely checking attendance in class. Several adults in with the Ministry's emblem on their robes had also been spotted and excitedly identified as Aurors.

Meanwhile, students caught outside the permissible hours were severely punished with detention, amidst much grumbling and dark muttering.

"If you keep that up," Professor McGonagall warned a fifth year who had been spotted wandering around the last two nights, "I doubt you're going to be here long enough for your O.W.L.s." The student merely scowled at her.

Hermione privately questioned whether nurturing a feeling of unrest within Hogwarts was wise despite the surrounding circumstances. She agreed with James; it wasn't like Dumbledore to display that he was troubled, but perhaps... Perhaps the Headmaster did have something to fear.

"Are you going to wait up for James?" Sirius asked, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. "It's almost ten o'clock, and I'm sleepy."

"Go to bed then," Hermione advised, trying to concentrate on the book Remus had lent her despite her turbulent thoughts, and now Sirius' question had made further studying impossible. "I can't sleep without knowing for sure that James is here, safe."

Weren't you the one who said we had nothing to worry about? Sirius groaned. "How am I going to bed with you making me out to be some insensitive lout."

Remus glanced up from his reading and tossed Sirius a book. "Here, have something to read."

"Thanks. That was thoughtful," Sirius remarked sarcastically. Even so, he opened it and flipped through its pages uninterestedly.

Hermione glanced at the clock above the fireplace. James and Lily were due to arrive from their second rounds any moment now, and at the sounds of approaching footsteps--loud and quick, as though whoever was making them was running--she angled her head expectantly towards the portrait hole.

It burst open, and Hermione stood up. Instead of James, a little boy with blond hair clambered in and almost fell over with haste. He wildly looked around.

"Hey, you!" Sirius snapped the book closed and threw it aside, grateful for a diversion. "What were you doing outside so late in the evening? It's detention for you!"

"Er--you can't give him detention, Sirius," Peter said.

But the little boy wasn't listening to their banter. He was breathing heavily, trying to speak but failing to get a word out.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked him, perceiving his distress. She approached him, put her hands on his shoulders and levelled herself with him so she could look him in the eye. "Tell me, what's wrong?"

He gulped some air and managed, "Death Eaters!" He swallowed again. "Death Eaters!" he repeated more forcefully. "I saw them! Death Eaters! Here! At Hogwarts!"

* * * * * * *

James exited a room on the first floor and started up the flight of stairs, knowing his eyelids were on the brink of closing. Completing his assigned rounds was taking its toll on him, even after less time on the pitch and especially after dinner. Since the attacks, the earliest he could return to the common room was ten o'clock.

That reminds me. I'm not allowed to turn in without Lily. He glanced at the watch on his wrist and laughed aloud. It was the watch that Regina had given him, and with it strapped to his wrist, he always forgot it wasn't there to tell the time. But his body's internal clock was telling him he should rest, so Lily must be on her way back to the Gryffindor tower as well--if she wasn't back already.

James snorted, knowing she wouldn't bother waiting for him and that she was the least bit worried about his safety. But he thought it was almost his obligation as a male to look out for her, so he decided to have a look around first. He stole another look at his watch and wondered aloud, "Right. So where should I check?"

The short hand that had been pointing to twelve moved counterclockwise to nine, and he grinned. "Left, eh? You have a point there." He turned left at the second floor landing, aware that this wasn't exactly Lily's area of responsibility but certain he could never underestimate the redhead's nosiness anyway.

He strolled along the long, carpeted hall, his footsteps muffled. As he passed by another flight of stairs, a sudden motion caught his eye; a second check told him it was nothing.

His instincts screamed differently.

James held his breath, his senses sharper. There it was: the hardly discernible sound of somebody else's footsteps, which stopped almost as soon as he had noticed it. And then there was a change in the air, and then a rush of wind that he knew would strike his right ear, if he let it. He automatically sidestepped, whirling and whipping his wand out of his robes in one fluid motion.

Something crashed behind him, but he didn't look back--couldn't, transfixed with the sight of the enemy before him. An icy shudder passed through him. He knew that the next time he would be asked to describe death, he wouldn't have to think too hard.

The figure was clothed in black and hooded, its outstretched arm holding its wand aloft. That it had missed earlier seemed to mean nothing to it; it was cackling madly, as though the assault had been done in sport and that it had but flexed its fingers in anticipation of enjoyable--to James's mind, deadly--curses.

"Quick reflexes, wittle Potter," a high-pitched voice behind the hood taunted, carelessly tossing its cloak back. "I'm impressed--but you are of pure blood, of course."

James tensed, gripping his wand more firmly.

He was staring at Bellatrix Lestrange.