4

Googly, Reverse Sweep...

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23rd December, 1979

The Christmas party hosted by Frank for the Order (in spite of the Potters' and Longbottoms' resignations) at Longbottom Hall was in full swing. Senior members like Dumbledore, Elphias Doge, Cedrella and Septimus Weasley, Ignatius and Mildred Prewett, Alastor Moody, Aberforth Dumbledore, Hagrid, Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, the Salisbury couple, John and Hannah, and ex-members like Charlus, Dorea and of course, Augusta, were in attendance.

The Marauders, the traitor (who had just been tagged with a blood tracker through his drink – a simple sleeping spell was enough to get him to comply and donate blood for the 'cause'), Frank, the two Bones' brothers, Sturgis Podmore (not a part of the Coven), the Prewett twins, and the new Potter cousin, Eric (who stayed away assiduously from the rat), were apparently indulging in drunken revelry. A new entrant to this group was Ralph Mason. During the four days as November ended and December started, this man had been missing.

Flashback:

The 4th of December, 1979 was a day of great joy for the Coven. The news that Voldemort was now eighty three percent dead had sparked off celebrations among its cadre. The end of this horrendous war was truly in sight. Particularly for the Potter, Longbottom and Bones families, it had been a matter of true relief. They were visible targets, and they knew the traitor in their midst. That was when they remembered that there was one man still to be checked – Ralph Mason.

So, with all the frenzied activities surrounding the prophecy and the control leaking of the same to Voldemort, he had gone under the radar, so to speak. With the initial stages of the plan more than just wrapped up, and with Voldemort certainly being more dead than alive soul-wise, it was time to address this problem.

Ralph Mason brought more problems which really had no straightforward solutions. Yes, he was a marked Death Eater. No, he didn't believe the stupidity that Voldemort was espousing. He was not even someone like Peter who was in it for some twisted form of personal gain, but like them was a vigilante, who had gone in with the idea to spy on that lot. He intended to be the inside source for the Order, but with its ineffectiveness and unwillingness to use what information he could bring, and with the fact that he was essentially caught up as a moneylender (the term 'lender' being very inaccurate as it was never going to be returned) and a leader for a sleeper cell, he had ended up being disenchanted with everything. He was stuck being simultaneously useless and useful and wanting to do the right thing and not being able to do anything at all.

On one hand, they felt bad about doubting him, vindicated with regards to the doubts about whether or not he was marked, triumphant that they really had extracted correct information from Peter, and felt sympathetic towards the man and his predicament. Ralph Mason was, to all extents and purposes, a person stranded in no man's land. His friends – which included most of the Coven – had divulged the extent of their activities to him with the understanding that they could not elaborate. If Voldemort looked into his mind, all he would know was that the Coven no longer worked with the Order, and that they had killed his Death Eaters. It was a situation everyone was content with for the time being.

The fact still remained though, that Ralph had at least had to murder an innocent for that Mark. It tainted his relationship with most of them to an extent, just as much as most of them still viewed Regulus will lingering distaste and suspicion. Those were taints that would probably never be washed off.

End: Flashback.

The people who were 'drunk', though, were actually watching every action, reaction and the behaviour of one Peter Pettigrew. He was constantly shifting around, looking at everything with fear, guilt, hatred, more fear, sadness, and resignation. Lily, Alice and Sylvia were now nearly two months along and were starting to show. It was not remarked upon at all, but there were the things they did to only subtly advertise it. The ladies did not touch the alcohol, while everybody else around them was always ensuring that they were comfortable. The two were also moving cautiously, though they weren't so encumbered that it was necessary. The other ladies of the Coven – Daphne Milner, Wilhelmina Coldword, Althea Brigham, Astoria Taylor, Emmaline Vance and Marlene McKinnon – had cornered the three expectant mothers, and having hijacked a corner, were causing enough noise while still sober to match the revellers.

The men themselves had taken sobering potions enough times between drinks to ensure that they never really got drunk. The party was a party really, but it was, for the Coven, also a ruse to reveal the pregnancies to the traitor and thereby bait the trap. It had been difficult, very terribly difficult, for them all to behave normally around Wormtail, knowing what the man was. But they were too far gone to back off now. Things were so tantalisingly close to the end, and while they had attempted to keep things very light-hearted over the past month, it was now rather obvious that the nerves were getting frayed.

Peter Pettigrew, for all his faults, was a very observant man. He had to be, given his role as a spy. He had seen enough during the party to derive his own conclusions. However, Peter was not the epitome of cleverness. His conclusions were, beyond the obvious almost entirely erroneous. Given the fact that the thing he served had not seen fit to tell him what he should have been looking for, he had chalked all the signs of stress he was seeing as something related to the pregnancies themselves. He had no knowledge of the prophecy at all.

It was only close to midnight when the drama was close to culmination. James and Frank stood up and strode to the centre of the room, the former giving the latter a friendly shove to demonstrate his inebriation, something that the manor Lord returned just as boisterously.

"Dailies and Mental-men," started Frank, who was then cut off when James poked him in the arm to cut him off.

"The right thing is Men and Gentle-ladies..." he whispered loud enough for it to carry. "The ladies are always supposed to be the gentle beings, see? We are rugged, not gentle!"

"Have you two had too much to drink? Not too old to put over my knee, either of you..."Augusta warned, causing the two grown men to cringe a bit.

"Whatever," Frank replied before carrying on. "The Houses of Longbottom and Potter..."

"...and Bones..." supplied Robert as he ambled over.

"...and Bones," agreed Frank, "We have announcements to make!"

This grabbed everyone's attention. People turned in their seats and chairs were shifted so that people could move over. Alice, Lily and Sylvia came over to join their husbands, beaming.

"Indeed! We are all proud to announce that our Houses are about to welcome the next generation in the coming year!" Robert declared joyfully.

There was a slight disagreement over this within the Coven. The Potters and the Longbottoms already knew that they were targets, and having been in on the plan from the very start, they were ready for several eventualities. They were unhappy with Sylvia being made a target, simply because the Bones' child would be born around the same time as the Potter and Longbottom children. However Robert had pointed out that in any case they were targets, as evidenced by the attack on the Ossuary. This way the Order would still look out for them and the protection would be higher. It was a valid point.

There were loud cheers in response. The Order had had precious little to celebrate till recently. For three among their numbers to have such good news made everyone really truly happy – well, except Pettigrew, of course. He was squirming like a rat that had chanced upon a truly scrumptious aroma and was unable to follow it. His Lord would be very pleased with this information.

There were toasts, words of blessing from the elders and lots of ribbing by the others. Peter mostly remained silent, unable to honestly share the joy. On one hand, he would have to betray his friends and a child. Even Peter had scruples there. Would he really feel nothing at all while betraying a child to its death? On the other, he had been promised protection, riches, power and women. Peter blinked. That was a bloody easy decision, wasn't it? He could almost picture himself like a king, rolling in wealth, surrounded by his harem, with a beauty feeding him grapes while another fanned him. A dreamy, stupid, goofy grin stretched across Peter's face.

He was jerked out of his daydreams by a hand around his shoulder. He fought the grimace that threatened to break out on his face.

"Wormy," Sirius addressed him very seriously.

"Pads," Peter acknowledged, plastering a smile on his face. They were joined by James and Remus. "Prongs, Moony," the rat added.

In spite of the wolf, so near to the surface with the transformation barely a week away, howling at him to tear the traitor apart, Remus somehow calmed himself and nodded back, as did James. "We need your help, Wormtail," the stag animagus gravely intoned. "Will you...?"

"Of course, Prongs, you just have to say the word."

"Just die, you effing traitor!" would have been wholly inappropriate, so James instead looked over to his friends –true friends – in faux apprehension to stave off the moment. He then took a deep breath before explaining the 'situation' to Pettigrew. "Peter, HE is targeting Sirius, Remus and me for recruitment. We have known that for a very long time. HE is targeting Lils as well. We know that as well."

Peter could only nod. He himself had been given the job of sounding them out. He hadn't done it of course, and in his sole action of defiance, had engineered one of the confrontations between the Potters and Voldemort based upon a truly well-constructed lie. His three 'friends' had trained him well in pranks of such a nature. Either of the other three joining the Death Eaters would mean he would be consigned back to the lowly position of a minion of a minion of a minion of a...

"But now," continued James, "now I have my child to think of. I can't take that risk. That is why we intend to go into hiding."

"Hiding?" rasped Peter. This was bad. This was horrible. How was he supposed to tell his Lord about it and give him solid information if they went into hiding?

"Yes. And we, and by that I mean to say, Lily and I think that you should be the secret-keeper for the Fidelius Charm."

"Fidelius Charm?" squeaked Peter...so like a rat.

"Yes. Professor Dumbledore is renting us a cottage. He will put up the charm soon."

Peter had not watched cartoons, but his eyes could have easily imitated the best of Warner Brothers' and Hannah-Barbera's greediest characters' eyes. He still decided to be cautious and find out everything that they had planned before going ahead with it. "Why me, though?" he asked. "Why not have Padfoot or Moony do it?"

"Anyone who knows us through the years will know that I will immediately turn to Padfoot first. Next I'd turn to Moony. But I want you to do this. Nobody will think that you'd do it as they think you aren't a big dueller if it comes to that. But we know otherwise. And more importantly," he said forcefully, and in a low voice, as the words were wrenched from him, "I trust you. I trust you, Wormtail of the Marauders." I trust you to sell me out.

That clinched it for Peter. James really was a fool. "I will do it," he promised with all the solemnity he could muster. He received weak smiles in response.

"Thanks Peter. I knew I could trust you."

The party broke up just after one in the morning and the traitor was among the first to leave. His former friends looked on dispassionately as he tried to scurry away as inconspicuously as possible.

"Think he ate it up?"

"Absolutely," replied Moony. "I could practically smell his excitement."

"YUCK!" protested James and Sirius as one. "Traitor or not, there are some things about people that I simply don't want to know!"

"You don't get to protest - either of you. I always feel squeamish eating at the kitchen table in your flat, Prongs. And the sheer number of times I have caught you in broom closets in varying degrees of compromising positions, Padfoot... Those times have burnt the images into my mind forever. I could never look at the girls without blushing again, and I had only caught you!" Remus commented with a shudder. "And I wasn't talking about that sort of excitement, you pair of jerks! His pulse had gone up; he was practically quivering with something akin to happiness and just couldn't wait."

"It's the same thing, Moony," Sirius pointed out.

"It is, isn't it?" the werewolf mused. "Any bets he goes scurrying over to his Master?" Remus was one of the subtler, innuendo-joke-cracking people. So when he said the word 'Master' it was said with such an inflection that the images it generated in his fellow Marauders' minds were decidedly of the risqué kind. When they groaned in protest, Remus asked innocently, "What? You don't want to take the bet?"

"You know what, Moony. Don't act so innocent," James grumbled. "And of course, we can't take the bet. We learnt not to over the years we have been your friends. You rob people blind in bets because you always have inside information."

Remus just smiled widely.

The party was a success. The other side was also successfully infected. Now they just had to wait and fight for one year.

Peter was lazy. So he decided to postpone telling Voldemort the three families' happy news till the next day. Remus would have lost the bet had the three true marauders actually had a bet. Peter' fear of Voldemort dishing out the Cruciatus because he was woken at that late hour was greater than his excitement.

"My Lord," Peter squeaked as he prostrated himself at Voldemort's feet the following day.

"Speak, Wormtail."

"My Lord you had asked for news within the Order."

"Yes."

"My Lord, Potter, Longbottom and Bones are going to have children."

Voldemort, who was stroking the head of his familiar, a snake of unknown species which was draped around his neck across the back of his 'throne', stilled. "Say that again," he hissed.

Peter started cowering. "My Lord, Potter, Longbottom and Bones are going to have children."

"When shall they?"

"Sometime at the end of July..."

Voldemort stood up in a motion that startled both the snake and Peter. The reptile flicked its tongue speculatively and slithered towards Peter, who whimpered and reflexively moved closer to Voldemort, which was a different kind of danger in and of itself.

"Silence Wormtail!" spat the Dark Lord at his minion, as he paced on the dais upon which the throne sat in the darkened room. When the first flare of panic had died off and he had calmed down enough, he demanded, "Tell me more."

Peter almost heaved a sigh of relief...almost. So long as he was in the same room with the Dark Lord and that Merlin damned snake, he could truly count on every breath being his last. "Potter announced it to the Christmas Party the Order had last night."

"And I am hearing about it now? Crucio!" screamed the Dark Lord.

If he could think, Peter could have cursed himself – if he weren't already being cursed. With his extremities twitching and him having pissed in pain, his only true incentive to stand up was the snake which, as for all snakes was attracted due to the rat's scent. Poisonous snakes' venom always causes their prey to lose control of their bodies. For another, if he didn't clean himself and the floor up, the next spell heading his way would be the Avada Kedavra. Why was he still serving the madman? Oh yes; he had been promised a really good life.

Slowly tottering up to his feet, he cast the cleaning and air-freshening charm and cried, "Mercy, my Lord!" as he sank to his knees again. "I returned very late last night, and I believed you would not like to be disturbed during your rest!"

Voldemort evidently decided that it was an acceptable excuse, so the torture curse didn't find its way back to Peter again. He instead resorted to threatening Peter. "If you value your life, Peter, I want you to tell me everything, now!"

And so Peter told Voldemort everything. What he heard was rather excellent, Voldemort decided. The part where Peter was asked to be the secret-keeper amused him so much that he laughed outright (it was a curious sound, like an air-pump used for bicycle tyres). Potter had fallen into the trap that most people fell into – friendship and trusting another human, or indeed, for that matter, any other being that could think for itself. It was why he would be easy to destroy as would his entire family. Family; that word and the emotions people connected with it made him want to vomit. He gave an ophidian grin at that as he allowed himself to relish the thought of destroying three families. It made him feel all warm and tingly inside.

"Stand up Wormtail," he commanded and was instantly obeyed. "You have done well. I want you to go ahead with the plan. In fact, since they are, as you say, so insistent on outsmarting me, let me help you help them further..."

Wormtail would have smiled, but his heart wasn't truly in it anymore. He bloody ached. Damn this Dark Lord, damn his friends and damn spying! All he wanted was the riches and a good night's sleep now. When Voldemort was done, and he had jotted it all down on a piece of parchment, he left to accomplish his second need.

Once the rat had left, Voldemort paced some more. The prophecy; yes, it was a load of hooey. But he knew that these things had a way of coming true, if someone who actually believed in them, or was desperate enough, did things wilfully or otherwise to set them in motion. He personally would never believe it. Believing a prophecy meant believing in fate, or destiny or whatever. That meant believing in a power higher than Lord Voldemort's own power. And that was impossible.

On the other hand, there were a few things that he knew he could use the prophecy as an opportunity to work around. His first instinct was to let the children be born. The three couples in question were all powerful individuals, and he had no doubt that the children would be just as powerful, if not more. Of course, they wouldn't rival him in power, but still for commoners (which meant everyone who wasn't him) they would be respectably powerful. Killing the parents and raising the children to be his Death Eaters would be an excellent way out. But would that be really possible, when Dumbledore who had heard the prophecy would be looking out for them?

And there was the crux of the problem. He didn't want to leave it to chance. He didn't want some fluke of nature or magic to occur and push the prophecy into becoming self-fulfilling. He didn't want there to be any doubt about the power and immortality of Lord Voldemort. The Potter, Longbottom and Bones lines had to end. And he would start with the Potters. He deserved a birthday gift, after all, didn't he?

No, he decided. There was no way the children would be born. There was no need for any threats to come into existent. It would be the right thing to do, eliminating them l while the women were unable to fight.

26th December, 1979, Boxing Day

Dumbledore had just cast the Fidelius Charm on the house he was going to sacrifice. He hated that house. There were no good memories for him here. His sister had been hurt badly the first time close to this place and his father had been sentenced to Azkaban forever. His childhood had been abject due to the circumstances. His mother and sister had died right here in this house. His family had been destroyed there as well.

In a quirk of fate, therefore, this house was going to serve a greater purpose when it would be destroyed a year on with the most feared and hated Dark Lord in recent history. And given the fact that Gellert Grindelwald – another bad memory associated with this house – was around only three decades before Tom, that was, in a perverse way, quite the achievement.

He felt a strange urge to laugh, as the traitor, Pettigrew (he had been told; the Coven wasn't about to hide such important information at such a crucial juncture) accepted the secret-keeping duties. The trap was set, the bait was tied. Now the shikari would sit tight in anticipation.

Peter, however, had a surprise for them. "James, years ago, the Marauders made a vow to each other, a vow of loyalty and duty to each other. I invoke that today. I Vow on my very life and magic, to keep this secret, and protect it with my life and my honour, and my pledge."

Perhaps friendship and humanity weren't so dead after all. James looked at the traitor strangely for a moment. His face took a troubled mien, before a smile, not unlike the one he had worn before pulling off a spectacular prank blossomed on his face. Peter smiled uncertainly at his friend, something which the oldest among them caught.

Yes, decided Dumbledore. Peter had chosen the right side, after all.

Voldemort sat and listened gleefully as Peter recounted the casting of the Fidelius Charm. This had gone according to the plan, the masterful plan that he, Lord Voldemort had concocted. He had cleverly played on the weaknesses of his enemy. He had known for some time that the Order knew that they had a traitor in their midst. Offering a Vow, voluntarily, to protect the secret with his pledge, life and magic was the wording just as he had commanded Peter to use. After all, the Death Eaters had pledged their life and magic for their Lord to command. It was so easy to make a true Vow in words yet have it mean something totally different in meaning.

Now it was time to set things in motion. He sent for his resident Potioneer, Severus Snape. The man had quite the history with Potter, his wife, and his friends. Perhaps Severus would be up for some revenge and some fun?

"Milord," Snape addressed his master, as he prostrated himself when he turned up barely minutes later.

"Rise, Severus." Voldemort observed the man inscrutably for several moments. Finally he spoke, "We have a job for you Severus..."

Not knowing whether to acknowledge that in words or to remain silent, Snape decided to bow. That made Voldemort smile. He didn't like too many clever minions; he wasn't foolish enough to discount the power of a clever multitude (then again, maybe he was). But in Severus Snape, he was sure that he had a gem of a servant who was as good with his wand as he was with his brains. He had some ambivalent ideas regarding the risk that the man possessed, especially with the knowledge he now had, but with enough control, he could come to believe Severus yet. That would be quite the first.

"We believe you have heard that the prophecy you told us about has been set into motion."

"Yes Milord. I have heard something to that effect from what Pettigrew told me. He was not clear about the details however."

Voldemort remained silent to make it seem as if he wanted Severus to shut up, which he did. A full minute later, he spoke, "So Severus, I hope you remember our good friend, James Potter?" The savage snarl that broke out on the face of the otherwise stoic Snape nearly made Voldemort laugh outright. "You do remember," he said in an amused voice, stoking the fire of hatred that the Death Eater seethed with.

"Yes Milord," the greasy-haired man answered through gritted teeth. "I remember that blood-traitor."

Silly Severus; he was still unable to face the facts that he was bested in his obsession by the better man who was worthy of the mudblood, the Dark Lord mused. Even he knew that Severus wasn't worthy of anyone to breed with or even be with, let alone the witch touted to be the cleverest witch, and from his personal experience, also the most vicious witch of her generation. Even he knew that making someone fall in love with oneself was the pinnacle of manipulation, and he was something of an expert on the subject, having managed it thrice. The foolish women had been excellent sacrifices on the altar of his immortality. Snape had befriended people who hated Lily Evans on sight and had called her a mudblood, and had been among those who tortured and defiled her friend who was similarly handicapped in terms of her circumstances of birth. Severus Snape hoped to find a willing woman in Lily Evans? Hah!

Still, all the anger, hatred and irrationality could be channelled, couldn't it? Unless he was wrong – and he wasn't, for nobody knew better than he the ways to identify, manipulate and channel the negative 'emotions' and traits in a person – Severus was wallowing in self-pity, a feeling of betrayal, jealousy, and hatred for the man, and anger at the woman for spurning him. This was most amusing and useful. And he thought it was 'love'. Hah! Love was a myth. It didn't exist.

"Well then," he continued, poking at the one weakness of the man, "you will be most happy to hear that they have some very happy news! They are about to welcome a new little Potter within the coming year!"

Severus Snape was doing his utmost to prevent himself from bursting with all the rage he felt. Even his iron-control over his thoughts and emotions was unable to restrict the sheer betrayal and hatred he felt. Lily was now bearing the beastly spawn of Potter? She, who was his woman, had not only betrayed him, by somehow marrying the...the...he didn't even have words enough to describe Potter... and now was carrying his child?

Knowing that he had provoked Severus enough to make the man lose all rationality, Voldemort now started to direct all the hatred the man felt. "Well, Severus, it seems you are in luck."

The words barely made it through the haze of anger, but Severus jerked his head towards his Master.

"You brought the Prophecy, did you not? Well, the Potter spawn fulfils the criteria. Its parents have defied me thrice, and the child itself will be born as the seventh moth dies..."

It took some time for the words to percolate into Snape's brain, and for him to understand them. When they did, though, the savage anger turned into an animalistic sort of glee.

Now simply so that Severus could amuse him further, Voldemort allowed the man a free rein over his behaviour in his, Lord Voldemort's, presence. Severus rose shakily to his feet, breathing harshly and with a cruel glint in his eyes. He paced a bit to calm himself a bit, knowing he would be held under the Cruciatus for this. But if his voice rose, it would be worse. Finally, when he pronounced himself fit to speak to his master again, he faced Voldemort.

"Milord..."

"Speak, Severus," Riddle replied, unable to keep a hint of mirth from his voice.

"I beg for a boon."

"Speak."

"I beg that you spare the mudblood's life. I want her for myself." He would never call Lily by her name around Voldemort. He had to call her mudblood. But then, wasn't that the thing that had driven her into Potter's arms? Never mind. She would be his.

Voldemort completely expected it and also what was going on in his Potion Master's mind. But for appearances' sake, he asked in a hiss, "Do you mean we should spare this so-called threat to us?"

"No Milord," Snape backtracked. "That spawn of evil shall be...taken care of...of course. There are potions. I shall have them ready for you to administer to her by your own hands," he offered.

"And you believe she will come to you out of her old sense of friendship?"

"That no longer matters, Milord. I believe I shall be able to...convince...her..."

"Good."

There was nothing more to be said and Snape was dismissed. Voldemort stared at the door his minion had just left through with a weird expression. Then it started. It started as a low hiss, before it became a full-blown gale of laughter. Idiots! The lot of them were idiots! But all the same, the sheer diabolic nature of the 'plan' Severus had to win the mudblood over impressed Voldemort. He could recognise another driven man like himself. Severus was driven by the need to make the mudblood his own, just as he himself was driven by the ambition to be immortal.

The mudblood was important to his plans as well. Her presence – as he thought of it, his love for her, and therefore an inhibiting factor – would keep Severus from more grandiose ambitions. She would have to be spared.

31st December 1979

Severus Snape and Peter Pettigrew accompanied their master to Godric's Hollow. Each of them was in a similar state of mind. They were feeling a very miniscule sliver of guilt, which was very thoroughly overwhelmed by their anticipation of reward.

For Peter, it was only the slightest of guilt that he was sending Prongs to his death, along with Lily and their child. But he ruthlessly quashed it with the things he had been telling himself for quite some time. The Marauders had not treated him fairly. They hadn't treated him with respect. This meant nothing. Prongs meant nothing to him, nor did Lily. This was not betrayal. Hadn't James apprenticed under Mad-Eye Moody? He should have checked him. He should not have trusted him. James fully deserved what was coming for him, just as he deserved the riches and power he would be rewarded with for this.

Snape was entertaining similar thoughts. Potter would end with the year. Potter, who had tormented him through his school life, who had bullied him viciously, who had been the popular berk, who was liked by everyone and who had stolen his, Severus' woman, his Lily from him, would die today. Potter, who defiled Lily, would die today. And Potter's spawn from hell, would soon follow its worthless father. And then Lily would be his. The thoughts made him smile viciously. Lily would repent for choosing Potter and having the audacity to marry him and bear his child. She needed to be re-educated. He might have told the Dark Lord that he wanted her as a slave, but she would be his queen. A laugh was wrenched from him against all control.

In their respective anticipation and bloodlust, neither saw how ironic it was, and how horrible everyone would have found it that Peter Pettigrew, once a Marauder, and Severus Snape, sworn enemies, were working together to murder families and innocent, unborn children.

"James and Lily Evans-Potter live at 4, The Old Forest Road, Godric's Hollow," Peter declared. For once in his life, Severus Snape rushed in like a Gryffindor, Voldemort following languidly in their wake...

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And Wicket

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31st December, 1979, Hogwarts

It was the end of yet another year for Dumbledore, the man sitting in a tower at Hogwarts. At eighty six, he had truly seen far too many.

It was, quite literally, in terms of the war, the best of times and the worst of times. It was the year of wisdom on the part of those he least expected it from and was the year when his foolishness had been rubbed into his face. It truly had been the year of darkness, followed by the season of Light. Just at the onset of the winter, in a time of despair, there was a spring of hope. Where once it seemed there would be nothing left to fight for, and then there was too much to lose all of a sudden. It was a time for heroes, and it was the time of betrayal. Where once the actions taken, he believed would have sent him to Hell, he now knew the lives saved meant he could argue for a place in Avalon when his time came (not that he had agreed initially or had taken up that course of action himself, or that his first reaction would have taken him to the hallowed heaven).

In short, for Dumbledore, it was like any other year he had had since the turn of the century.

It would be debatable whether Dumbledore thought in such Dickensian ways, but the truth was, that, like most other people, the year's end was a time of rumination and meditation and deep thought, as one sank deeper into the bottle.

At the moment, however, one thought was worrying him the most. It was the thought of betrayal. Peter Pettigrew, the one person who seemed afraid of everything, had done what, as he now realised, pitifully terrible people do. He had turned traitor.

He had seen how his friends had befriended him, kept him close, had helped him through the years and had protected him from others. The Marauders, as the four called themselves, weren't saints, but they took care of their own, as Peter had been taken care of. But he had spat on that...just as Gellert had spat on their friendship and trodden the path of Darkness. He saw so many similarities that it scared the unflappable Albus Dumbledore.

And the fear, an offshoot of his instincts, made him nervous.

Peter had taken vowed to protect the secret with his life, magic and his pledge when he had been assigned the secret-keeper. At the time, he had been pleased with how things were panning out. A traitor too was a human, and somewhere something became too much for even a traitor to betray. At the time he had believed that Peter had chosen his friends over his master. It had warmed his heart.

But now it didn't sit well with him. The whole crux of the matter was the word 'pledge'. He remembered something he knew already, but hadn't struck him then. Each Death Eater pledged his life and magic to the service of the Dark Lord. So Peter had already pledge everything into Voldemort's service. What worth was his Vow to James then? And then there was the fact that it was a Vow, not an Unbreakable Vow, and certainly not a magical Oath.

This meant that Peter could betray James with impunity and face no consequences whatsoever. He was free to do what he pleased in that aspect. This meant that the Potters were really unguarded. He had to change things, and immediately!

Another aspect of the whole matter was the fact that he hated the house and it had long held terrible memories for him. It had been his childhood home. It was where they lived before his father was arrested for avenging Arianna. It was where his sister had to be kept in something close to magical mental trauma ward captivity without help from institutions like St. Mungo's because they had no money to pay them. It was where his mother had died. It was where he had felt locked up and where he, Gellert had come. It was where he had taken steps down the path to becoming a Dark Lord himself. It was where Arianna was killed in a fight that she wasn't even a part of.

As if just thinking of the matter was a trigger, the alarms that were tied to the wards he had helped set up there blared. Dumbledore swore roundly and grabbed his wand. His worst fears weren't even given time to solidify before they came to life. This was horrible! He couldn't lose people now, not when they were so close to ending the war! Curse that blasted rat! He had betrayed them after all!

With spryness belying his age, Dumbledore grabbed his wand and called out to his companion. The phoenix, knowing the distress his human felt, latched on to Dumbledore's arm and flashed away into battle. The house at Godric's Hollow would see no death of any innocents that night! It was time that he, Albus Dumbledore, confront this blot on magical society, Lord Voldemort, and end things for once and for all! This would be a fight to the death!

Snape blasted open the door of the house and strode in, leading the charge, with Peter following in his wake. There was no sign of any person in the rooms downstairs, and it was dark. With a flick of his wand, he lit the lights within the room and looked around. And there was Potter bold as brass standing behind him, quivering with fright.

"Not so bold now, are we, Potter?" Snape sneered. "You took Lily from me. Now when I kill you tonight, I will have her..." he declared triumphantly.

Peter was on the other hand, stuck and frozen, quite literally. He was stuck in a tile of glue. He recognised what this was. It was what the muggles called rat traps. He stood quivering in fear as a snarling James advanced onto him, brandishing his wand.

"I am sorry!" the rat squeaked frantically. "I am sorry, James! He was too powerful! We couldn't have won! Please Prongs, it's me, Wormtail! Please don't kill me!"

James' voice came out as a sneer. "Not so bold now, are you? You so boldly made a Vow to protect the secret. Now when I kill you tonight, I will have your head on a pike..."

Snape raised his wand, wanting to do nothing but to cause pain to Potter. Peter saw the hatred etched on James' face and knew what was coming. The Cruciatus struck true. Snape saw Potter writhing in pain. Peter whimpered as James held him under the Cruciatus Curse.

Dumbledore flashed just outside the gates of that house of horrors. He saw the liquid coal of Voldemort's robes billowing as the fiend walked into the house as if he owned it. Once he would have called out to Voldemort and sought a fair battle. Not today, he wouldn't. He needed everything in the arsenal of a fighter and surprise was a key element.

He made to run in after Voldemort when a gentle hand on his arm stopped him. He couldn't see anyone, but it was a woman's hand, he knew. Knowing this to be a trick, he grabbed the hand and was surprised. The pulse was erratic, if one were to consider and compare it to a normal woman's pulse. It was almost as if it was the pulse of a pregnant...

"Calm down, Professor," spoke the voice of a disillusioned Lily Potter. There was a definite note of mirth and excitement in her voice.

"Lily?" he called weakly.

"Yes. Please, come along."

Dumbledore, now thoroughly discombobulated by everything that was going on, allowed himself to be led onto the small lawn. He cast a sensory charm to get his bearings. It was Lily who was leading him alright. She led him to a set of seats where the members of the Coven, Bartemius Crouch, several Aurors, Abe, Alastor, Dorea, Augusta and Charlus were sitting. Missing from their numbers were the Prewett twins, Frank, Eric, James, Remus and Sirius.

"What is going on?" he asked.

"Lily just smiled at him and pointed, instead of answering, to a set of multiple mirrors. The images he saw surprised him. Well, that was an understatement, and a massive one at that.

With the first bout of the Cruciatus done, Snape wanted to gloat. He wanted to tell Potter what he would do to his body, how he would desecrate it. But that would mean taking time out of the torture he had reserved for the man. It would mean giving him a breather. So he brought out the curses, the esoteric ones he had studied for this very reason. He had hoped to one day use them on Potter.

Peter wailed, cried and whimpered as James cast the entrails-expelling curse, blood boiling curse, and so many others on him. No promises by the Dark Lord were protecting him from this onslaught. He no longer had a voice left to protest and it had only been two minutes, two agony-filled minutes during which his former friend had brutally sent him to his death.

It was at this point that Voldemort entered the room, after checking around and taking his time and rehearsing his evil villain speech. That was important. What was the point otherwise? He walked in on the unlikely image (in his service that is, and without his orders) of Snape torturing Pettigrew. What was interesting was that Pettigrew was standing in what seemed to be a tile of glue. 'In' was probably right, because his feet had sunk right in.

The little spy was no longer even shouting for help and seemed resigned to death. Snape, though, looked gleeful. Well, Pettigrew was no use anymore. Everyone would soon know who the traitor was, and they would have already lost their prophesised saviours by then. His tolerance ended when Snape started gloating. Voldemort saw red. Snape was a minion, damn it! It was above his pay scale! Only the chief villains were allowed to gloat!

"Thus end the high and mighty Potter, betrayed by his friend, and killed at the hands of the rightful victor, as even you must have known all along Potter..." he gloated. "To the victor go the spoils, Potter. Your filthy child will join you soon!" the man jeered. "And then vengeance, and Lily, will both be mine!" Then before he could be stopped, he had cast the killing curse at Potter, killing Peter Pettigrew instantly...

"Wow," muttered Gideon. "Snivellus..."

"...is really full of himself."

"As if..."

"...this attack"

"...was something"

"...that we hadn't predicted!"

"As if he could have ever got one over any of us," scoffed 'Eric'.

"Oh look!" squealed Sirius giddily. "That's Mouldy-shorts!"

"He has come!" announced Remus, equally happily.

"Come on boys," Frank chastised, "let's not waste time. We have got to play with our prey, after all..."

James was not in as mirthful a mood though. "Snivellus has something on his person. He said the Prongslet would be killed without killing Lils. There's a potion or something. We've got to be careful."

"Of course we shall be," the others echoed equally harshly, in unison. "Let's get to it, team. We have to put this beast down."

As the curse flew at the hapless, battered Pettigrew, Voldemort realised what had happened. A Confundus Curse... they had got his servants with Confundus Curses that made at least Severus think that Pettigrew was Potter. And there was a trap to keep Pettigrew in place. So this was, obviously a trap for them all.

It was all that Voldemort had time to process as something large, red and hard flew at him and smacked him in the face, followed by the sounds of all the doors and windows being shut and bolted. Shaking with rage, the Dark Lord caught the thing, which he recognised as a quaffle, that infernal thing they used in that accursed sport, Quidditch, which was what he would thoroughly destroy once he became the supreme ruler.

As soon as he caught the quaffle, it transformed into a letter and a pair of magic-repressing handcuffs, the latter snapping around his wrists. "WHAT CHILDISHNESS IS THIS?" he hissed. He really shouldn't have made hissing second nature. It completely marred the effect when he wanted to roar out in anger and found that he no longer could.

"Oh shut up you twit," called a voice from the door to his right. Seven figures clad in black Quidditch regalia, complete with the protective gear emerged from it, and one of them cast a petrifaction curse at Severus, who was breathing heavily in imagined triumph. "Read the letter."

Almost against his will, his eyes were drawn to the letter.

Hello Tom,

We knew you were too greedy and would want the 'threat' out of the way as soon as possible. We planted a false prophecy in Snape's head and knew about Pettigrew's true loyalties. The oath really was overkill.

Now you are up against a bunch of Quidditch fans, four of whom could have gone on to play professionally – one as a chaser, and the other three as a beaters.

You are going to die. Really, you are. You can't confide it in some diary, you can't wear a ring or necklace for protection, Rowena's diadem won't give you any wisdom and you can't drink some potion to save you from Helga's cup. Oh, and you can't use the trophy as your shield either.

We would say it was good to know you, but that would be a lie.

Mischief managed!

The Coven

"Popcorn, Professor?" offered Alice, holding the paper pyramid-with-the-vertex-cut of popcorn out to the Headmaster.

For once in his life, Dumbledore was not unhappy to be either shocked, surprised, or both. As he watched the three depraved people being outwitted into submission by a series of pranks, and particularly, saw and heard what the Potions Master spoke before killing Peter Pettigrew under the thrall of the Confundus Hex, he no longer had the worry that he was in some way being duped. Knowing the people involved as he did through the numerous detentions they had served with (even) him over the years, he was sure of their identities.

The Marauders, and anyone they found so companionable, would turn even the killing of the most terrible Dark Lord of their times into a joke of some sort. They could never be serious about anything, even with Sirius amongst them. That thought made the Headmaster of Hogwarts groan involuntarily as he cracked the tired pun-joke. Holy Merlin! Now he had been somehow pulled into that sort of mess.

Augusta looked at the man sympathetically. "Did you just crack a Sirius-serious pun in your head?"

Dumbledore could only nod slightly morosely, as he accepted the muggle paper-cone full of popcorn of every imaginable, yet nice and edible flavour from the young Lady Longbottom.

"You get accustomed to that after a while. We had to hear that thrice a minute when these kids told us about their plan," Augusta consoled. "It only stopped once Lily threatened to...what was it Dorea?'

"She threatened to take him to a vet and get him neutered."

Dumbledore just cracked a weak smile, as he grabbed a fistful and ate the crunchy snack. He hummed in approval. This was infinitely better than sherbet lemon. He was bored of that tartness.

"So, how long has this been going on?" he asked. "When did you suspect that they would attack?"

"When we made Peter the secret keeper of course," answered Dorea. "Tom was never the most patient of people and his greed was legendary. He could have never waited for the opportunity, and might even have tried to coax away another piece of his soul tonight."

"Oh," was all Dumbledore could say in reply. They really had planned for all eventualities.

Fear was the dominant feeling gripping the Dark Lord. "What have you done?" he hissed.

"We have killed large part of you," a voice he knew belonged to a Death Eater. "Remember the elf, Kreacher? You always did underestimate the elves, didn't you? Well, he brought it all to me, his master." The man removed his helmet for a moment.

"Regulus Black, the traitor," surmised Voldemort as he seethed. "You do know that the dark mark bound you to me, don't you? As soon as I am done with these fools, I will kill you as you watch your treachery become worthless."

"Oh you stupid man!" mocked Regulus as he rolled his sleeve upwards. The Dark Mark had been replaced by the crest of the House of Potter. "I am no Death Eater. Our friends in the Department of Mysteries needed just my memories and ten days to free me from you. Once I was 'killed', or rather, declared dead to the family magic, I ceased to be Regulus Black. All my oaths drew upon that, you know. I have been working within your numbers to cut you lot down for all the time since being marked. That was deemed as sufficient penance by the Lord Potter. After that, I swore the same pledge I swore to you, to my new Uncle. Voila! I am an unmarked Death Eater!"

"Enough explanations, Cousin Eric," James broke in. "Understand, Riddle, that your Horcruxes are now all gone. We would probably offer you a chance for remorse, but that wouldn't be fun. Goodbye!" He fished out a shrunken crate from his pocket, prompting all the others to do the same. When they were restored to their correct dimensions, a moment later, Voldemort had a hard time controlling his cringe.

"Any last words, Mouldy-shorts?" asked Lord Black, with a truly manic grin across his features. "Lucius, Bella, Rudolphus and Rabastan had a lot to say before they died."

"Killing your own family, Black?" the Dark Lord sneered. Even in the throes of certain defeat and destruction he wouldn't let go of his 'style'.

"What would you know? Your mummy took a piece of your daddy, couldn't stomach having your ugly mug for a child and snuffed it in terror," Sirius responded blithely.

"Do you dishonour all whom you kill?"

"Nah, this..."

"...is a special treatment"

"...that is reserved for you."

"You know," remarked Remus, "you could try splitting up two word curses. You know, Fabian could say Avada, Gideon could say Kedavra."

"Doesn't work," replied one of the twins dejectedly.

"We tried," his twin supplied.

"Could we just finish this up already?" Frank asked in slightly exasperated irritation. "I would like Lily to have a crack at Snivellus. The longer we spend here, the longer Snape has to have a coronary."

"Right," the twins and the three true Marauders agreed sheepishly. With the sort of conversation they were having, nobody would have connected this situation to that of taking care of a Dark Lord. With a flick of Frank's wand, the crates were open. With another, the bludgers were released.

"Bye, bye Voldy!" Remus cried in a little boy voice as he swung the bat in his hand with a true aim. "Sad Birthday! Have a happy Death-day!" The morbid wishes were echoed by the others. Ten bludgers, all made of solid iron, and weighing a hundred and fifty pounds each, and seven bat-happy wizards were just as effective against Dark Lords as a duel. Of course, since Lily was to have a crack at Snape, he was kept unharmed...relatively.

The people watching the Dark Lord being bludgeoned to death were now feeling exasperated. At least a little sense of decorum could have been observed. Now they were just hitting the bludgers around with wild abandon like overgrown children.

"I think I am going to retire before the children come to Hogwarts," Dumbledore announced wearily. "I still had some colour to my hair, you know, when this lot came to Hogwarts."

"A white-haired Minerva will look so odd," Lily retorted. She eyed the headmaster curiously. "You are taking this too calmly..."

"I had come here to finish Tom off before he could touch any of you," Dumbledore replied. "I have had enough trouble to last a lifetime. This had to end today, for once and for all." Then he allowed his disappointment to show. "They are having a bit too much fun."

"They are," agreed Dorea. She cast the sonorous charm on her throat. "That's quite enough boys!"

On the screens they could see the petulance that this pronouncement garnered in response.

The magical world woke up to the Daily Prophet awash with the photographs of the 'Quidditch Team' standing triumphantly over the broken body of Lord Voldemort, prompting celebrations across the length and breadth of the country. Dedalus Diggle was almost arrested for flouting the Statute of Secrecy.

There were the doubters, till the Ministry and the DMLE released transcripts and memories of the scenes from the monitoring charms that had been set-up that night. Of course, they were abridged to edit out the mention of the Horcruxes, and also of the freedom of Regulus Black from servitude. Nobody needed real Death Eaters getting patrons. The orders for Aurors to persecute and prosecute them were passed rather quickly.

In the process, the Beaters of Voldemort were all awarded Orders of Merlin, First Class, and so were the others who had helped orchestrate the whole matter. For Remus, that was a welcome change in his status.

Severus Snape was kissed by a dementor, but was pushed into the containment field by Lily Potter. The heinous man became the lightning rod for public anger against the Death Eaters. It had been a bit of a problem containing public sentiment from turning it into a mob mentality. The punishment that was carried out just after Snape uttered his famous last words, "Lily...look at me..." mollified the people somewhat. The redhead had of course done no such thing and had retorted with an impassioned, "Fuck off!" before pushing the man through.

The really scary reaction, though, was a Molly Weasley-howler to her brothers which arrived right in the middle of a press conference on the first day of the New Year. WWN had sent a reporter there. Naturally, the whole country knew what Molly Weasley, a hormonal, pregnant Molly Weasley at that, thought of her brothers' shenanigans.

"YOU STUPID IDIOTS!" her voice sounded out, shorting several wireless sets. "WHAT WERE YOU DOING BEHAVING LIKE JUVENILE PRANKSTERS?

"MUM AND DAD WERE SCARED OUT OF THEIR WITS! WERE YOU TRYING TO GET KILLED? I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT ARTHUR AND I WOULD HAVE GONE THROUGH, OR MUM AND DAD IF YOU HAD GONE AND GOTTEN YOURSELF HURT! WE GOT A LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE! OUR PARENTS DIDN'T RAISE YOU TO BEHAVE LIKE HELLIONS! WAIT TILL YOU COME OVER FOR DINNER! YOU ARE NOT TOO OLD FOR ANY OF US TO PUT OVER OUR KNEE!"

The action of two grown wizards, conquerors of Voldemort, gulping in fear, was captured in a photograph that displayed who exactly the greater threat and the scarier person was. Of course, the howler's effect was marred by an alternating babyish giggle in the background. Clearly, a set of nearly two year-old-twins had found their heroes and had attempted to say so.

It was indeed, the perfect New Year's gift for the magical world.

Eleven years and nine months later:

Professor Lily Potter was on the King's Cross station. For that time, till 11 am, she wasn't a Professor. She was there as the mother of one Harry Potter. At her side, with her and as part of the farewell party were Eleanor Potter, eight, James Potter, and Charlus and Dorea Potter. She was savouring the feeling of family. She had relished the feeling of home over the past months, away from the school where she had taken up the vacant position of the Alternate Magical Usages and Practices, a new course which dealt with using magic in new and inventive ways. This was in conjunction with her position as a scout for the Department of Mysteries where she had performed groundbreaking research and earned Masteries in Charms and Potions en route.

Her husband too had joined the department as a sign of truce between the two Moody brothers, wherein they could both claim him as a part of a special department specialising in 'field studies' which was to say he helped counter Dark Lords before they became a problem. The Beaters were part of this team, simply to ensure that what worked was not disturbed. Of course, this meant that there were several instances when the end results were slightly disturbing. It had initially become a headache till the department realised that the team did jobs in a way that ensured that there was no need for obliviations to be performed on muggles.

The boy in question was a mixture of his parents. He was a prankster of the highest order, but had learnt moderation at his mother's knee. With Neville Longbottom, Draco Black-Lupin (the son of Narcissa and the adopted son of Remus Lupin; they were veering towards marriage, after Narcissa had to fend off her niece's excessive attention directed towards Remus. It had all been a complete surprise) and Ronald Weasley, under the tutelage of the Weasley twins, Hogwarts was already gearing up for the return of the Marauders.

"You will write won't you?" Eleanor asked.

"I will try, Ellie. Otherwise I will try sending howlers. Mum can't send me any," he pointed out.

"And here I was thinking that I might miss you. Thank you for disabusing me of the notion."

"I am very glad to be of service. And disabusing? Writing to that pen-pal of yours, have you?" Charlus, Dorea and Augusta had lobbied extensively for muggleborn children to be told about their skills and powers as soon as the first bout of magic was registered. To bridge the gap between the magically raised children and the muggleborn, the pen-pal system had been constituted. Eleanor was friends with a girl four years her senior, and having a better grasp of the English language than the average tween.

"May I remind you that she is your pen-pal as well? And if you pull a prank on Hermione I will set Auntie Althea on you."

Althea Brigham-Potter, the wife of Eric was the resident disciplinarian. She was the one who kept the kids in line, much in keeping with her maternal nature, which was only a part of her day. Her other occupation was running the company Eric (Regulus) had started. The Death Eater was what most would call a weirdo. He ran a type of business born from his care of Kreacher – a house-elf employment exchange – as a cover for his work with the Beaters.

Their marriage was not even a probability when it all started. Eric, then Regulus Black, a Death Eater, had a lot of ground to cover in the eyes of others who were in the know. Althea, his staunchest critic became the person he would try to get on the good side of. Seven years of becoming something that she wouldn't object to turned into seven years of becoming someone worthy of her love. They were expecting the third Potter child after Eleanor.

"Hey! There's no need for threats, you know!"

"We will see..." she said in a very fair imitation of their mother's narrowed eyes as they moved off towards where Neville and Garfield, the second Longbottom son, were waiting with their mother, Senior Auror Alice Longbottom, and godmother Lily Potter for the final two members of their little group. It was a good thing that the ladies had caught up with the boys before they boarded the train.

"Harry, Neville, have you been given any type of contraband, comprising of a piece of parchment and a cloak of invisibility by James?"

Without a delay, the mothers received an answer – a vehement 'no'. Having lived for so long with the boys and their fathers, the women knew better than to take the answer at face value.

"Have you found such contraband lying around innocuously?"

"Yes."

"If I check either your person or your trunks, will I find those items?"

"No."

"If I were to now be at the owlery, would I find Hedwig arriving in a few hours time with those items?"

"No."

"Would I find Hedwig already at Hogwarts with those items?"

"Hey look! That's Justin, Sally and Hermione, the three who we have been writing to!" pointed out the interrogator's son as the two rushed off towards three other children their age.

"JAMES CHARLUS POTTER!"