Vengeance victorious, these are the glorious days
Muggles of England, come gather your bloody bouquets
Now gaze on our goddess of justice
With her glimmering, shimmering beam
As she kisses these traitors, they let out one last silent scream…

* * *

Erasmus Cairnwright swaggered jauntily through the darkened alleyway, admiring the dramatic effect of his black Death Eater robes billowing out behind him. Wearing the deceptive cloak of darkness (not to be confused with a dark cloak, though he was wearing one of those, too), he blended in with the shadows, and his face was hidden by a lowered hood and a black mask.

Erasmus felt cool and mysterious, and he had to suppress the urge to buy a pair of sunglasses and a leather jacket and strut down the street snapping his fingers. He was powerful in his anonymity, and he’d almost forgotten he was a potbellied, balding old man with lousy eyesight, corns on his feet, a bad back, and the goofiest teeth in England (which was saying something).

“Pretty out tonight, innit?” he addressed his son, Desiderius, who was walking alongside him. Desiderius was dressed like his father in the sombre uniform of the Death Eaters, but he was a long, thin shadow gliding along the alley, whereas Erasmus looked like a spectral rhinoceros stumping along. “You can see all them stars, eh, Desi?”

The boy’s expression was unreadable, covered as it was by his mask. “You seem cheerful, Dad,” he said, casually blasting a reeking dustbin with a killing curse to make certain it wasn’t the clever hiding place of any Mudbloods.

“’Course I am, Desi! The Dark Lord oughta be mighty pleased wif us tonight, I reckon. ‘Specially arfter what that idiot Cliver did larst week.”

“What about Clive?” asked Desiderius, taking care to keep his voice down, unlike his excitable father.

“Sound like yer’ve got a cold or sumfin’,” noted Erasmus. “Blimey, I carn’t believe I didn’t tell yer about Clive. Always fort ‘e were a bright one, I did. But that Phoenix bloke tricked ‘im.”

In a shocking lapse of judgment, Desiderius got it into his head to ask his father who ‘that Phoenix bloke’ was, giving the old man incentive to keep blabbering on.

“Well, yer see, a lot of them Mudbloods�”an’ even some Muggles�”are managin’ to escape lately, prob’ly over the border into France, the Master finks, as ‘e ‘asn’t got around to takin’ over there yet. Bloody frogs.”

Desiderius had the good sense not to point out that “the Master’s” own name was French.

“An’ everyone’s bin sayin’ someone’s bin rescuin’ ‘em an’ ‘elping ‘em over the border, see? They call ‘im the Phoenix.”

“Odd name,” noted Desiderius. “Why’s that?”

“’Cos ‘e carn’t be killed, right?” said Erasmus. “No one can catch ‘im. But there’s another reason. Know the Dark Mark, Desi?”

“Of course.”

Erasmus nodded sagely. “Phoenix’s got a sign, too, ‘swat I ‘ear. Looks like a great gold phoenix ‘overin’ over the ‘ouses where ‘e’s rescued people. An’ you know wot the real myst’ry is? Sometimes, yeh fiind like three ‘ouses wif the Phoenix’s mark over ‘em at the same time, clear ‘cross the country! Whoo!” He blew a stream of air through his lips, visible in the chilly night air. “Pity ‘e ain’t on our side, ‘cos ‘e’s got to be mighty clever.”

The pair walked in silence for a moment, passing into another alleyway. Then, the boy spoke up. “What does he have to do with Clive, Dad?”

Erasmus grinned, though no one could see it through his mask. “Well, old Clive was one of them sen-trees over at Diagon Alley�”s’posed to watch for Mudbloods, right? Well, this Death Eater comes uup to him an’ says, ‘I’ll grab yer a cup o’ coffee or sumfin,’ and Clive says okay, an’ the Death Eater goes away. Well, then, this shopkeeper bloke runs up and yells, ‘you moron, that were the Phoenix!’ And Clive runs off arfter ‘im, ‘course!”

Desiderius chortled quietly. “Really? The Phoenix disguised himself as a Death Eater?”

Erasmus let out a huge “HA!” of laughter. “NO!” he boomed, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “The Phoenix were that shopkeeper wot told Clive that the Death Eater were the Phoenix! Clever bloke, I toldjer, clever bloke!!”

He stopped laughing, and his tone turned dark. “’Course, the Master warn’t too pleased wif Clive. That’s why we got to kill them Tonkses over on the next street. Carn’t afford for the Master to get even more hugged.”

“Hugged?” asked Desiderius blankly.

“New slang I jest come up wif, Desi. Hugged-and-kissed, rhymes wif’…”

“I get it, Dad,” the boy said quickly.

They stepped out of the alleyway into the street. “Tonkses’ house oughtta be comin’ up soon. There’s three of them Tonkses, little girl ‘bout five, six years old and�””

“Dad?” said Desiderius, cutting off his father. “You know that Phoenix sign you told me about?”

“Yeh,” grunted Erasmus.

The boy looked up to the sky above the Tonks residence, where a brilliant golden bird hovered in midair, spreading its fiery wings as though shielding the house with them.

“Did it, er, look at all like that?”

Erasmus’s jaw dropped. “What in the name of Merlin’s wrinkly�””

But the rest of his string of profanity was never to be uttered, because just then, a most unexpected thing happened.

“Stupefy!”

Erasmus fell to the ground, his bald head thudding against the pavement like an empty coconut dropped out of the sky, perhaps by a migratory swallow.

“Desiderius” stowed his wand back inside his cloak and pulled off his mask. “The Phoenix strikes again,” he muttered with a hint of a smile, and levitated Erasmus’s corpulent form into the alley where he would place it next to the real Desiderius Cairnwright.

He would return Desiderius’s robes to him, as well�”he’d felt very awkward stealing them. Apparently, some Death Eaters wore the strangest things under their robes.

* * *

I know the gutter, and I know the stink of the street.
Kicked like a dog, I have spat out the bile of defeat.
All you Death Eaters tow'ring above me, you who gave me the smack of your rod.
Now I give you the gutter, I give you the judgment of God…

Like stepping on the air so blindly

I trust you will be there to find me

Like reaching through the blue

I place my faith in you

I do believe…



“Bong-sore, mawn-sewer,” said Ted Tonks as he stepped into the French pub, squinting farsightedly at the little phrasebook clutched in his hand. “PAR-lay voo Ang�””



“Right, I don’t speak French,” growled the grumpy-looking bartender, looking up at the broad-shouldered blond man who had just spoiled his atmosphere, “and clearly, neither do you. So you can shut up now, actually.”



Ted blinked and glanced at the sign over the door. It quite clearly read “La Tête Du Porc". He glanced back at the bartender and opened his mouth in confusion.



“Yes, Mr. Tonks, this is France,” sighed the bartender. There was a distinct bleat from under the bar. “Not now, Clytemnestra, I’m working!” he snapped, hastily closing a cupboard door behind him.



Ted’s eyes lit up. “Hang on, I know who you are!” he exclaimed. “You’re Aberforth, Dumbledore’s wei�”Dumbledore’s younger brother!”



“Guilty,” sighed Aberforth, rolling his bright blue eyes. “I’ve been outsourced here to France, apparently on business for the Order of the Phoenix. Personally, I think Al’s just trying to get rid of me so I can stop telling the other Order members the story about that one time when I walked into his so-called study, and he was--”



“The Order of the Phoenix?” exclaimed Ted, his face full of youthful awe. “You mean, you work for the Phoenix?”



“Guilty again,” said Aberforth. “Blackmail was involved. Hog’s Head wasn’t getting any business anyway, so I’ve been sent here to help all the Muggle-borns that the Phoenix is ferrying off over the border. Speaking of which, Mr. Tonks, it’s okay to bring in the wife and daughter now. This place is protected by the Fidelius charm, you know.”



Ted gave him a dazed smile. “Ah. Right, sir. Little worn out from all the travel. I’ll… go get them.” He waved and ducked out the door.



Aberforth waved and smiled as well. “Bloody idiot,” he muttered as soon as Ted was out of earshot, and resumed rubbing out a filthy glass with a dishtowel covered in several exciting varieties of mould.



A moment later, Ted reappeared with two others, a tall young woman with light-brown hair and a worried expression, and a rather excitable little girl with two long pigtails of lilac-coloured hair and a rapidly melting pink ice-cream cone in her sticky hand.



“This is Mr. Aberforth Dumbledore,” Ted said to the little girl, picking her up and plopping her in a chair. There weren’t any booster seats for her, but this was to be expected, as it was a bar and all.



The girl giggled. “You’re silly, Daddy. That’s not a name.”



“I wouldn’t be talking, Miss Nymphadora Tonks,” shot back Aberforth.



“No fair!” The girl howled belligerently, folding her arms and slopping ice cream onto the floor in the process.



“Don’t make a mess, now,” cautioned Aberforth, which was a bit rich of him seeing as the pub was already unimaginably squalid.



Ted sat down in a chair, which creaked ominously. He was big, the chair was lousy, and the combination was bad. “Mr. Dumbledore’s here to help us. He’s learned all about us from the Phoenix.”



“What, a bird?” squealed Nymphadora.



Aberforth rolled his eyes again. “For the love of goat,” he muttered. “Have you told the girl anything, Ted?”



The man’s wife answered for him. “To be honest, sir, we don’t know much about him ourselves. We never even saw him, and we never heard his voice. We followed his directions in a series of Patronuses, and then we got in his boat�”the Death Eaters are watching all of the magical channels of transportation, of course�”and we got a meal and lots of notes telling us what to do in France, but we never saw him. He stayed in his cabin the whole time.”



“Sir,” repeated Aberforth, snorting again. “Can’t remember ever being called that before. Well, no one’s s’posed to know too much about the Phoenix. Not even some of the Order know who he is… heck, I don’t.”



Ted laughed, then stopped when he realized that Aberforth wasn’t kidding.



“Important thing is to trust the Phoenix and trust me, and everything should go okay. The Death Eaters haven’t infiltrated the French Ministry yet�”they’re still sticking to England, so you’re safe here. If too much about the Phoenix was leaked to the public, you never know who’d get the info. The wrong people could find out.”



Mrs. Tonks nodded grimly. “I know what you mean. I can’t believe what happened to Mary MacDonald.”



“Which would be?” Aberforth raised his bushy eyebrows. “Enlighten me, I’m stuck here in France, and owls delivering Daily Prophets in English would be kind of a dead giveaway.”



A crease appeared between Andromeda’s eyebrows, and her pretty young face fell. “Oh, didn’t you hear? Death Eaters killed her and her entire family. No doubt my wonderful sisters had a hand in that.”



Aberforth dropped a glass, where it shattered against the slimy floor.



“Don’t make a mess now!” cautioned Nymphadora, swinging her pudgy legs.



Aberforth smiled extremely tautly. “Precocious little brat you’ve got there,” he muttered, then shook his grey head. "But the Phoenix was supposed to save the MacDonalds! What happened?”



Ted spoke for her, putting a comforting arm around his wife. “They got a tip-off. From Lily Evans.”



“Lily?” Aberforth looked as though he had just swallowed a large, spiny lizard along with his drink, which was not too improbable in an establishment like his. “But… but that’s insane! And she’s not Lily Evans anymore, either, she’s Lily Potter�”got married just before I left. And I know Potter, he’s a good bloke, if more than a little bit daft. No way he’d marry any Death Eater. Besides, Lily’s Muggle-born, just like you! Just like Mary!”



“She was friends with Severus Snape in school, though, from what I heard,” said Andromeda. “And he’s not a confirmed Death Eater, but he hung out with them, and he certainly was involved in the Dark Arts. I don’t know why she married James Potter�”he’s an idiot if I’ve ever met one, and I’ve met Ted--”



“If I didn’t love you so much, ‘Dromeda dear, I’d punch you.”



“�”yes, and I’d say there’s definitely something odd about her marrying James. You never know who to trust anymore.”



Aberforth nodded sadly. “I’ll say. Thank Godric for the Phoenix. There’s a man you know you can trust.” He raised a glass in cheers, although the glasses were so dirty that neither of the Tonkses joined him. “Speaking of the Phoenix, I ought to send a message back to the Order. Like I said, I’m out of the loop, but I don’t know if the Phoenix knows about Lily yet. They should know who to watch out for. Can’t believe what this war’s doing to people…”



He sighed and got to his feet, kicking the cabinet behind him (which let out another muffled bleat) as he passed. “Your room’s upstairs. It’s no palace, but we’ve got rid of most of the roaches.”



“Oh,” said Andromeda weakly. “That’s, er, good.”



“Yeah, the scorpions ate ‘em.”





* * * * * *



5 Signs You Got Married Too Early



1. You have a pimple the size of a kumquat on your nose. (I thought that was supposed to clear up after adolescence!)



2. You had your wedding in the United States so Death Eaters wouldn’t crash it, and you weren’t old enough to have champagne at your own wedding. (What kind of drinking age is twenty-one, anyway?)



3. Your husband is singing the “Roadkill Stew” song again, and he still thinks it’s funny. (It wasn’t even funny in first year!)



4. Wait, my mistake. He’s switched to “Frogs Go Pop.” (Yes, the infamous song that suggests that ‘we all know frogs go pop in the microwave.’ Interestingly enough, I didn’t know that particular tidbit about frogs until after hearing said song. Even more interestingly, I don’t believe James knows what a microwave is.)



5. You’ve told all of this at least ten times to your favourite teddy bear, Boris.





“Ah, Lily! Working on your great novel?” boomed Horace Slughorn jovially, giving Lily a companionable pat on the back that nearly knocked her out of her chair.



Lily quickly stuffed the scribble-covered napkin inside her boot and looked up with youthful innocence shining in her bright green eyes. “Something along those lines, Professor,” she said. Memo to self, she thought. Actually get to work on that novel. Her two roles in life were writer and wife, and she wasn’t succeeding too well in either of those particular fields.



“Ohhh, don’t call me Professor, Lily!” tutted Slughorn, shaking his head and causing his walrus-like mustache to dance most amusingly. “You a grown woman of nineteen and all… lovely party, isn’t this?”



“Er… yes… Amos and Claudia certainly know how to throw a party. If it weren’t for the tone-deaf people singing ‘Frogs Go Pop,’ I’d think I was at some sort of multi-million Galleon gala.”



“Oho, your wit’s as sharp as ever, I see!” Slughorn roared with laughter and carried on for several seconds too long. Lily strongly considered gently taking his goblet of mead away from him. She estimated that it would be approximately twelve minutes before he, too, joined in on the chorus of ‘Frogs Go Pop.’



Lily sighed. She knew she should be enjoying the Diggorys’ party. But somehow, she couldn’t quite bring herself to be happy. Usually, she was the life of the party, but that spot had been taken over by her husband and his ridiculous behaviour. She wasn’t sure whether or not he knew that everyone was laughing at him, not with him, but she sure didn’t see the comedic value in covering one’s face with a napkin and sticking one’s tongue out through it.



Well, except for that one time when, his eyes covered by the napkin, he’d accidentally licked Professor McGonagall’s nose. That had been pretty funny.



She knew that marriages often began to grow cold after awhile, but she and James had only been married two months. She was fairly certain that love had not blinded her in regards to James’s less desirable character traits, because she’d spent years trying to use them as justification for her choice not to date him.



But he was more than just another silly, arrogant rich boy. True, he ran a joke shop called Zonko’s for a living, but he was deeply compassionate�”with one major exception, this particular exception named Severus Snape�”and he liked all the same Quidditch teams and bands as Lily. Not to mention he’d been really intelligent�”they had spent hours talking, and Lily had never met anyone who seemed to share her views so completely�”and most of all, insanely brave and loyal.



At least, he had been. So what on earth had happened? He hadn’t been stuffing people’s wands up his nose and pretending to be a walrus when Lily had married him. She definitely considered bogey-decorated wands a deal breaker.



Slughorn seemed to realise what was on Lily’s mind because he said in his horribly jolly voice, “You needn’t worry, m’girl, it’s perfectly normal for a man to get a bit tipsy at parties like this.” He hiccupped conspicuously.



“Yeah,” said Lily, rubbing her arms. “But James doesn’t drink.”



Slughorn looked momentarily nonplussed. “Ah. Well. Er, if you don’t mind, Lily, I think I see young Dirk Cresswell over there�””



“Be my guest,” said Lily, relieved to have her old potions teacher leave her alone to her thoughts. Absentmindedly, she grabbed a miniature spinach puff off of a table and stuffed it into her mouth.



And spat it out into the scribble-covered napkin that she managed to dig frantically out of her boot. E. Coli Puffs were not among her favourite foods. She must really have had a lot on her mind if she’d gone so far as to have eaten spinach, of all things.



Strains of music, if you could call it that, drifted through the room.





“We all know frogs go pop in the microwave,

Pop in the microwave

Pop in the microwave

We all know frogs go pop in the microwave when you turn it onnnn!”







It was all Snape’s fault, she thought madly, though she knew that couldn’t be the real reason. James had no clue she’d even spoken to Snape since fifth year. But everything in her life seemed to have gone downhill since Snape had turned up.



It had been at her wedding reception. She had no idea how Snape could have found them in North America, but he’d been right there in the hotel eating the canapés and those awesome puffy little pastel-coloured mints that James hated so much.



She’d just come back from the ladies’ room, still giddy with joy. And as soon as she returned to the reception room, who had she run into but Severus Snape, clad in oversized black robes and sickeningly unwashed, just like in school. If possible, he’d looked even worse than the last time Lily had seen him.



But he’d been surprisingly polite and cordial if more than a little aloof, congratulating Lily on her marriage and complimenting the catering. And then he’d asked the question. He’d wanted to know how Mary MacDonald was doing and whether she still lived in her old Middlesex home.



Lily, her already-questionable sense of logic clouded by newlywed bliss, had told him that she had moved and offered to give him her address. She hadn’t been thinking. She should have known Snape was a Death Eater. But she hadn’t even thought about the possibility that a Death Eater would just casually stroll into such a well-protected wedding and have a chat with the bride.



James hadn’t seen him. No one else had mentioned seeing him. But two days later, Mary and her whole family were dead.



It had all been Lily’s fault for being so stupid, trusting Snape just because they’d once been playmates way back when Lily had liked pink and wanted a pony and Snape had been a soprano called ‘Sev.’ And the worst part was, she couldn’t even confide in James, because it was right about then when he’d started acting like an idiot.





“We all know frogs go splat in the ceiling fan,

Splat in the ceiling fan, splat in the ceiling fan,

We all know frogs go splat in the ceiling fan

When you turn it onnnn…



We all know frogs go bang in the toaster…”





“Lily!” cried Claudia Diggory, vaulting over toward her while simultaneously dragging her young son Cedric away from the singing men. The little boy showed every sign of precocious male idiocy, because he was singing in his little angelic treble, “We all know frogs go WHIRRRR in the disposal…”



“How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages! Still working on your novel?”



“Yeah,” said Lily, lying through her teeth. “Yeah, I am.” She’d done about three pages since she’d last seen Claudia. Writer’s block was a disease nearly as debilitating as male idiocy.



“What about James? Is he here, or is he working late at Zonko’s?”



It was then that a very familiar, very loud, and very off-key baritone voice chose the moment to start up a new song.





“I have a sad story to tell you.

It may hurt your feelings a bit.

One day, I walked into the bathroom,

And I stepped in a big pile of…

SHAVING CREAM! Be nice and clean!

Shave every day and you’ll always look keen!



I’m laughing so hard at these lyrics

I think my sides are gonna split

I stopped laughing just now, however

‘Cause my pants just filled up with my…

SHAVING CREAM! Be nice and clean!

Shave every day and you’ll always look keen!”





“Er, yeah,” said Lily. “He’s definitely here.” Across the room, James let out his ridiculous sick-horse guffaw of laughter and launched into the next disgusting verse of the song.



It wouldn’t be so bad if he acted like a mentally deficient first year just at parties�”she could cope with that. But he was like that at home as well, if not worse, and Sirius, Remus, and Peter�”who Lily had always liked�”only encouraged him. There were days when Lily just got fed up with of all of his… shaving cream.



“Ah,” said Claudia, sounding suspiciously similar to Slughorn. “I, er, can’t believe I didn’t notice him before. Well, I’d better get little Ced off to bed before he starts, er, picking up bad habits.”



“Right,” said Lily, blushing slightly. She sat down on a sofa and closed her eyes in exasperation. She still couldn’t quite bring herself to admit that this was the man she had loved and married�”if you could call him a man. She hadn’t quite gotten to the point where she could blame her unhappiness on James. “All Snape’s fault,” she muttered. “Stupid Snape.”



And a low voice from behind her replied in a dangerously soft whisper, “What’s that about me?”



And yes, God knows, I am a fool

A man deluded by his wife

A figure ripe for ridicule

Who’s lived a vain and useless life.

And soon the moon will smoulder and the winds will drive
Yes, a man grows older but his soul remains alive.
All those tremulous stars still glitter and I will survive
Let my heart grow colder
And as bitter as a falcon in the dive.

Lily practically had a heart attack. Her jaw dropped, causing a partially chewed mini egg roll to flop out of her mouth onto the carpet. “S-snape?” she spluttered, her head whipping around so fast that she got a crick in her neck. Snape had always had a talent for sneaking up on a person, but never before had it been so thoroughly unexpected.

“Miss Evans,” said Snape coolly, his expression somewhere between severe grimness and snide amusement.

“Mrs. Potter, actually,” Lily snapped, feeling intensely uncomfy.

Now the snide amusement on his face was unmistakable. “Ah,” he said. “Yes, I can see why you’d be proud of that.” He gave a nearly imperceptible tilt of the head over to where James was wearing a Viking helmet and singing,

“And now, this here song, it has ended.
I’m thinking it’s time I should quit.
If any of you feel offended,
Stick your head in a bucket of…
SHAVING CREAM! Be nice and clean!
Shave every day and you’ll always look keen!”

“There is nothing wrong with a man having a few drinks at a party,” Lily said stiffly. She knew that James hated alcohol, but Snape wouldn’t, and she had to make some excuse for James’s outlandish and, frankly, bizarre behaviour.

“Oh, have you driven him to drink as well?” Snape raised an eyebrow. “Oh dear. Don’t tell me your marriage is turning out to be anything less than idyllic?”

James’s idea about sticking people’s heads in buckets of, er, shaving cream sounded highly appealing to Lily. Who was Snape to criticize her family, her marriage? It wasn’t as if he knew much about such things. He’d never even had a real girlfriend.

“Look, why are you here?” blurted Lily. “Because I’m not turning in any more of my friends to the Death Eaters. I’ve already fallen for that trick once, in case you forgot.”

Snape gave her a long look. Uncomfortably long. “Perhaps we’d better go into a different room to discuss this,” he said.

Lily did not trust him for one second. “There’s nothing you can possibly have to say to me that you can’t say to anyone else here,” she said, returning the long look and immediately wishing she hadn’t.

She knew it was a cruel thing to think, but Snape really was the least attractive person she’d ever seen. He’d never been good-looking, of course, but as a little boy, he’d had that scraggly-little-street-urchin look about him that some people had found endearing. And in school… well, most teenage boys were pretty goofy-looking. But now at nineteen, his looks were an uncomfortable mixture of boy and man.

Snape was a small and thin man who was only a few inches taller than Lily herself. His hair was overgrown and greasier than Lily had ever seen it, which was saying something�”apparently he’d been too busy for personal hygiene, although his billowing black robes were immaculately clean. He still hadn’t grown into his nose (actually, such a thing seemed impossible given its size) though he had attempted to grow a thin mustache and goatee. ‘Attempt’ was the operative word, because ‘mustache’ and ‘goatee’ were very optimistic words for the fluff on his lip and chin.

And like Lily, his teenage spots had not yet cleared up�”no, NOT like me, Lily corrected herself hastily. His face is oily enough for me to see myself in, and totally covered in acne. I just get the occasional pimple every now and then. THERE IS A DIFFERENCE.

“I don’t mean to rush you,” said Snape carefully, “but it’s rather important we go to discuss this in another room.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t trust you,” Lily told him, her voice blunt. “We were friends a long time ago. Things have changed.”

“Some things,” said Snape. His eyes darting over to where James and Sirius had levitated two baguettes into the air and were sword-fighting with them. Sirius’s snapped in half and flopped lamely to the ground.

James laughed. “What a pathetic baguette.”

Sirius’s eyes narrowed. “What did you call me?”

Lily couldn’t quite look Snape full in the face. She was quite positive that he’d have lifted his left eyebrow and right corner of his mouth an infinitesimal fraction of an inch, giving him that infuriating look that said ‘I am saying very nasty things right now in my head, and you can’t possibly tell what they are.’

Instead, he simply said in a voice that sounded so measured and polite that it was impolite, “Perhaps someone should inform your husband that ‘baguette’ does not rhyme with ‘maggot.’”

“Not everyone is an expert on France,” snapped Lily.

Snape’s expression remained exactly the same. “Yes, I’m sure Mr. Potter has considerable expertise in… other areas.”

Shutupshutupshutup, thought Lily. She hated when Snape was ‘polite’. Flat-out rudeness would be a welcome change.

“In any case, France is exactly the topic about which I would like to discuss. I will simply say that should you choose not to speak with me now, the consequences may be… unfortunate.”

He sure likes using those three little dots, Lily couldn’t help but think. But then, I really like italics, so I can’t talk.

“You’re a Death Eater,” she said aloud.

Snape merely inclined his head. “I am,” he said. “There’s no danger in admitting it. The Dark Lord already controls the Ministry. But even so, I need to speak with you alone.”

There was something very disconcerting about this man. Not counting the incident at Lily’s wedding, her last conversation with Snape had been when they were in their fifth year at Hogwarts, and he’d threatened to sleep outside the Gryffindor Common Room and apologized desperately, near tears. He’d been an awkward, stoop-shouldered, somewhat pathetic boy who too often let his emotions run away with him.

He’d changed profoundly since then. Though still small and stringy and extremely ugly, he held himself straight and moved with an aloof, calculated grace. His perpetual expression was best described as ‘inscrutable,’ and his black eyes were cold and unfathomable.

And then there was the way he talked, like someone out of a book. Lily was a writer, for crying out loud, and she sounded like an ignorant child next to him.

As much as she hated to admit it, Severus Snape�”the picture of gangly, laughable insecurity in school�”had become very intimidating.

Lily remembered, somewhat wistfully, how approachable he’d once been when they were ten or so years old. He’d worn jeans�”admittedly ill-fitting ones, but jeans nonetheless�”and used words like ‘yeah’ and ‘cool,’ and ate sweets and made Lily a card on her eleventh birthday. It was hard to believe that Severus and Snape were the same person.

At last she said in the suspicious voice of one hiring a panda to guard a crop of bamboo, “All right. I’ll come with you. But if you try anything...” Her voice trailed off. She wasn’t sure what she’d do. Lock him in a room with James?

“How articulate,” said Snape. “I look forward to reading your novel.”

Wait. Did he actually know Lily was writing a novel, or was he just being typically snide?

As if reading her mind (probably because he most likely actually was), he said, “What else would you be doing to occupy your time? Having romantic dinners with your husband and watching him insert breadsticks in his nose?”

Lily ignored this entirely. In his own way, Snape was being as immature as James. “Right. Well, before I go into a room with you, I need to make sure you’re who you say you are so that I can make sure…”

“That I’m not a Death Eater pretending to be me?” smirked Snape. “Don’t worry. I am a Death Eater who actually is me.”

Somehow, this wasn’t especially comforting.

“I know what you are about to ask, and my middle name continues to be Septimius,” he told her smoothly.

Wow. He’s good, thought Lily.

Well, he’s evil, she reminded herself quickly, but I know what you mean.

Of course you do, thought Lily. You’re me. Incidentally, is this what they call ‘internal conflict’?

Snape cleared his throat politely, and Lily blinked.

I am really glad he can’t read minds, she thought.

Oh… wait…

Oh dear…

Worrying intensely about her sanity, Lily followed Snape into the cloakroom and shut the door warily behind them.

“Now,” she said in what she hoped was a forceful manner, “This had better be important.”

Snape’s eyes were as dark as the spider that had fallen from the cloakroom ceiling into his hair and promptly suffocated to death on the grease. “Surely you’ve heard of the Phoenix,” he said slowly.

“Yeah, but to be honest, I don’t really fancy having a chat about ornithology,” Lily responded irritably.

“I’m assuming that was an attempt at a joke. Otherwise, I would worry that Mr. Potter’s mentality is contagious. In any case,” Snape continued briskly, seemingly trying to attain the world record of insults toward one person in the shortest span of time. “In any case, I am referring to the man best known for rescuing Muggle-borns.”

Lily squinted at him. “Of course. What are you getting at?”

Don’t end a sentence with a preposition, said her conscience. She had a writer’s conscience, which was an awful lot like a beta reader.

“You must find out who he is.”

Lily did not blink for quite some time. She was positive Snape had lost his mind. “I’m sorry,” she said, “did you expect me to say, ‘sure, of course I’ll work for the Death Eaters’?”

“Not yet,” said Snape calmly. “The Dark Lord wishes you dead. I persuaded him to let you live, on the grounds that you would prove yourself useful.

Lily experienced a distinct sensation quite like her brain imploding. “Well, that’s fantastic!” she babbled, her voice shrill with sarcasm. “I especially like the way you asked me before you went off telling Voldemort! I can’t believe you--”

“I believe ‘thank you’ would suffice,” Snape told her, his voice cool. “I did, after all, save your life.”

Lily tried not to look afraid. She was absolutely terrified, though�”she could not wrap her mind around the concept of Voldemort himself singling her out to be killed. It was true that she was Muggle-born, but she was such a witch�”married to a pureblood, an alumna of the oh-so-fascinating Slug Club, Accio’d her things instead of getting them herself when she was lazy�”that it was very easy to forget.

And being murdered by Death Eaters… well, it was something that happened to other people.

Of course, she thought logically, getting murdered is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing.

“I am a Gryffindor,” she said in a voice that tried to be haughty but was about as stable as a jelly mold experiencing a train wreck. “I’d rather die than work for Voldemort.” She glared impressively.

Snape didn’t look impressed. “Yes, I expected you’d say something along those lines,” he replied. “However, I am not finished. You see, the Dark Lord also wishes to kill your sister and her husband. Their lives will, of course, be spared if you discover who the Phoenix is.”

Lily heard the words, but they echoed meaninglessly in her mind. She simply could not fathom what Snape was saying. “B-but that’s not fair!” she heard herself saying lamely.

Lame or not, it still wasn’t fair. Petunia had absolutely nothing to do with her. They hadn’t even attended (or been invited to) one another’s weddings. Petunia wasn’t part of the wizarding world�”she didn’t even know who Voldemort was! But Petunia and Vernon had no way to defend themselves. They couldn’t use magic. They had no chance.

It was heroic to sacrifice oneself for one’s principles, especially the principle of I Am Gryffindor, Hear Me Roar. But it went against those principles to let an innocent person die because of the principles.

Lily would never work with Voldemort, and if she let herself die because she was too proud to give in, she’d be a martyr. If she let Petunia and her husband die because she was too proud to give in, she’d be a murderer.

“The Phoenix will save them,” she said at last, more confidently than she felt. “He saves nine out of every ten people Voldemort’s after.”

Snape’s black eyes darkened, something that didn’t sound entirely possible. “That is true,” he said incredibly quietly. “And that means he doesn’t save one out of every ten people.”

There was something about the way he said this that made it sound as though this fact was very important to him. Either he would be a very good politician or, for some odd reason, this statistic actually did matter to him.

The statistic certainly mattered to Lily. She’d never thought about things that way before.

“I have things to do,” said Snape. “You will contact me later. I am not going to force you to choose at once; I understand that internal struggle is not a pleasant thing to witness.” He tipped his head curtly and strode out of the cloakroom and shut the door, leaving Lily alone in the dark.

Literally and metaphorically, thought Lily miserably. She slid down the wall into a sitting position, feeling her skirt ride up in a most unladylike manner and hoping Snape couldn’t see through doors.

What was she supposed to do? The Phoenix was the only hope anyone had lately, and Snape wanted her to betray him to the Death Eaters? But on the other hand, there was something really wrong about letting Petunia and her husband rely on hope when she could be positive that they’d be saved.

It was insane. It was completely, totally insane. Why on earth would Snape do something like this? Did he think that she would feel comforted by knowing that there was a way she could save her sister? Of course, he also probably thought that his hair looked good when in actuality it was greasy enough to fry a couple of fish, so his judgment was usually a bit skewed.

But she was being really stupid. Snape hadn’t come to warn her, to try to save her and the Dursleys. He was a slimy, disgusting Death Eater. He wanted to find and kill the Phoenix. Lily was just a handy way to do so. She was bright, she had friends in many social circles, she was curious and indecisive, the perfect type of person for that kind of a job. And she was Muggle-born�”no one would suspect she could have anything to do with Voldemort.

She hated the idea that there was the slightest chance that Petunia could die and it would be her fault… but Petunia was just one person. If she turned in the Phoenix, countless Muggle-borns would die, and it would be her fault as well.

But what made the Phoenix some kind of irreplaceable superhero? He had magic, of course, but so did everyone else in the wizarding world. If the Phoenix disappeared, wouldn’t someone else take over for him?

And more importantly, what was up with all of the rhetorical questions?

Lily could feel her makeup running and her pantyhose behaving likewise.

Snape had been right. Internal struggle was not pretty.

* * * * * *

Who would have thought that Lord Voldemort would have such delightfully exquisite teacups? thought the real Desiderius Cairnwright with a nervous smile. He curled a long, thin pinkie around the pink china handle and took a shaky sip of his tea.

Everything about Desiderius was long and thin�”his frame, his hair, his nose, his eyebrows, his lips�”with the exception of his fingernails, which were gnawed short and stubby due to the vast quantities of dread circulating around in his veins.

Across from him, the Dark Lord himself reclined regally in his armchair, smiling what he probably thought was an indulgent smile but what looked an awful lot like his teeth were trying to escape from his mouth and chase Desiderius around the room on their own.

“Are you enjoying your tea?” he asked in his soft, chilly voice, making each word sound like a polite death threat.

Desiderius opened his mouth to say something like ‘certainly, my lord,’ but unfortunately, his father beat him to it.

“Ar, it ain’t ‘alf bad,” Erasmus said loudly, belching without a second thought, “though I usually like sumfin’ a bit stronger, eh?” He cackled, laying an arthritic finger beside his nose and tapping it shrewdly. “An’ ‘ere, wot’s wif the pink flowery teacups? That’s a bit odd, I reckon, I does.”

Desiderius thought it would be a really wonderful idea to dig a hole to the centre of the earth and bury himself in it. Or better, bury his father in it.

Voldemort, however, remained blank-faced. “I see,” he said imperiously, a word which here means ‘giving the very strong impression of someone about to use the Imperius curse to his advantage.’ “I inherited these teacups from a woman called Hepzibah Smith. She seemed to think of me as a favourite nephew and left them to me in her will.”

“And you kept ‘em all these years?” asked Erasmus incredulously.

“She died after I served her poisoned cocoa in one of these cups,” Voldemort said baldly, an appropriate adverb as he was very bald indeed. “I’ve always found the irony of the situation rather amusing.”

Desiderius set down his teacup a bit hurriedly.

“But I did not call you here today merely to have a tea party,” Voldemort continued, his eyes flashing in a way that made Desiderius certain that the meeting was not going to get any less nerve-wracking as the night wore on. “I seem to remember you were ordered to kill the Tonks family?”

“Wstfgl,” squeaked Desiderius.

Voldemort lost all semblance of polite benevolence, not that he had much of one to begin with. “And yet you didn’t,” he hissed, shoving his face uncomfortably close to Desiderius’s own.

“If I may, er, make a point,” Desiderius continued in a shrill voice that made Voldemort’s own high-pitched tones sound basso profundo, “I was, er, technically unconscious and… uh… naked at the time. The Phoenix took my robes and was pretending to be me. What could I have done?”

“Ah, yes,” spat Voldemort, turning toward Erasmus. “And I understand you failed to recognize that the Phoenix was walking with you?”

Erasmus completely failed to be terrified, as per usual. This wasn’t because he was brave; he was merely too stupid to know when to be frightened. “Aw, yeh, well, yeh carn’t really tell ‘oo someone is when ‘e’s wearing those masks an’ robes, ‘specially when it’s dark. An’, I mean, I were a bit hugged at the time.”

At the sound of the word ‘hugged,’ the places where Voldemort’s eyebrows should have been rose marginally, but he was wise enough not to ask for an explanation.

“ ‘Ow were I to know ‘e were a Duke?” he continued, slurping away at his tea.

Now not even Voldemort was able to ignore Erasmus’s obscure slang now. “Duke?” he repeated.

“Ar, it’s slang,” he said happily. “Yeh, Duke o’ Gloucester, rhymes wif imposter, see? Jes’ made it up now.”

“Yes, I seemed to get that impression.” Voldemort did not look pleased at all. His face, never human in appearance to begin with, looked horrifyingly alien for a moment. Demons danced in the fire of his eyes, roasting marshmallows on the ends of their pitchforks.

He got up from his armchair and strode across the room, spidery hands clasped behind his back. In the half-darkness, his head shone pearly white like a full moon. “Lord Voldemort is a merciful lord,” he said quietly.

Desiderius shrank back in his chair. It was never a good sign when Voldemort began to refer to himself in the third person.

“It is extremely rare for a Death Eater to be offered a second chance.” Voldemort gazed off into the distance, and Desiderius knew there were things inside his head that he was very glad he was unable to see. “You were foolish, extremely foolish, to let your guard down when the Phoenix still lives.”

Desiderius nodded frantically, his knuckles growing as white as Voldemort’s with fear.

“But you may prove useful yet,” he continued, his voice pensive. “The Phoenix will expect you to be just as utterly idiotic as you were the night the Tonks family escaped. I believe this can be used against him. I will not kill you tonight.”

“Cheers to that!” exclaimed Erasmus.

“Thank you, m’lord,” gasped Desiderius, flopping back into his seat like an invalid starfish with relief. “Thank you.”

Voldemort’s eyes flared up again. “However,” he whispered, “I said nothing about whether I would choose to implement the Cruciatus Curse.”

Ghastly screams rang through the night. In the alley nearby, a cat harmonized along until silenced by a pebble thrown neatly at its head.

“Never could stand cats,” muttered the Phoenix, shaking his head, and pressed his ear to the door once more.

Piercing into the sky and higher and the strong will thrive.
Yes, the weak will cower while the fittest will survive.
If we wait ‘till the darkest hour ‘till we spring alive
Then, with claws of fire, we devour like a falcon in the dive.

You can tremble, you can fear it, but keep your fighting spirit alive, boys.
Let the shiver of it sting you, fling into battle, spring to your feet, boys.
Never hold back your step for a moment
Never doubt that your courage will grow
Hold your head even higher as into the fire we go.

“This meeting of the Order of the Phoenix will now come to order. Of the Phoenix.”

“That was not funny, you know.”

“Well, give me a break, I was out ‘till three in the morning rescuing people.”

“Only because you were delayed by some really good French food.”

There were eleven people clustered around the table, their faces tired and drawn in the glow of wandlight. But however tired they looked, they were enthusiastic and relaxed, chattering away and sharing a plate of snacks.

“Nice new headquarters, these. Although everything’s covered in dust and it smells like cats in here.”

“I know, I can’t stand cats.”

“Hey, I love cats. They taste great.”

“That’s revolting! Stop it!”

“Yeah, stop it, you’re making me hungry!”

After several minutes of this, a man cleared his throat and said, “Okay, listen, the Cairnwrights�”you know, those two idiot Death Eaters who were supposed to kill Ted Tonks and his family�”are doing special work for Voldemort now, so watch out for them. I overheard them last night.”

“Do you really think they’re going to be a problem?” asked a woman skeptically.

The man shrugged. “You never know. The dad doesn’t seem to have two brain cells to rub together, but that also means he’s too stupid to know how to be afraid, so he’s probably not one to give up a fight, and that’s dangerous. And I went to school with the boy. He’s a pathetic coward, probably wets himself when people jump up and yell ‘boo’ at him, but he’s not easy to fool. He isn’t dumb. So they balance each other out.”

Another man sighed and said thoughtfully, “You know, we’re looking out for a lot of people. All the known Death Eaters, Snape, Lily Potter, and now those two…”

“Well, everyone’s looking out for us,” said a man across the table. “And not all of them just want to give us a slap on the back and congratulations.” He tilted his chair back onto its back legs and turned toward the man nearest him. “So, tomorrow you’re taking Raphael Smitts over into France, huh? You look like a wreck; I can’t believe you’re risking it again so soon.”

The man rubbed his chin. “Ah, well, no one ever said being the Phoenix was an easy job.The pick-up and drop-off all the time is the easiest part, actually.”

The chair tilter nodded gravely. “Hmmm. Well, in that case, can you pick me up some French food and drop it off at my place?”

“Get me some, too! And lots of wine!”

“Yeah! And some of those great chocolates!”

“Ooh! Me, too! And six cats!”

There was a long pause.

“Taking it too far?” said the man meekly.

* * * * * *

Lily hated riding the Knight Bus. This had a lot to do with the fact that she had quite liked her lunch and was in no rush to lose it. But she had no alternative, because the Ministry monitored the Floo network and Apparition, and it was too cold to fly a broom… and her driving was, if possible, even worse than that of the Knight Bus driver’s.

So she sat queasily in her seat as she was jarred and jolted like a piece of gravel rattling around inside a shoe. It had been four days since that fateful Christmas party at the Diggory household, and she was still in an incredibly bad mood.

The choice Snape had given her seemed so simple�”just say no to Voldemort, kids�”but surely she wasn’t the only one who had been given this task. If she didn’t find the Phoenix, someone else would, and that person’s family would be spared while Petunia and her obnoxious husband would die.

Lily was in desperate need of a great big bowl of chocolatey ice cream.

Though she quickly lost her appetite as the bus came to an innard-scrambling halt. She felt her intestines perform amazing gymnastics and her spleen and pancreas get a little friendlier than usual as her body was slammed up against the side of the bus. She groaned, trying to keep from vomiting, as a young man got onto the bus.


“The Leaky Cauldron, please,” said the man quietly, handing his money to the lanky youth who served as the conductor.

The conductor bit down on the coin to see if it was real and winced, massaging his aching tooth. “Thank you,” he moaned.

Lily looked up as the young man who had just boarded the bus sat down in the seat next to her. “Hello, Lily,” he said.

“Remus!” she exclaimed with her first real smile in about four days. “Nice to see you!”

She’d always gotten along well with Remus Lupin, and it was nice to see an old friend who wasn’t trying to sell her to the Dark Lord. However, like Snape, he didn’t look too well. Always thin and pale to begin with, his face looked gaunt and his eyes were ringed with dark circles. His long light-brown hair looked disheveled and wanted cutting, and his hands were bandaged. His clothes were neat, but on closer inspection, they were heavily darned and patched.

But everyone knew Remus was sickly, though nobody, not even James, seemed to know exactly what disease he had. For some reason, though, he’d never been able to secure a job for long, and while James, Lily, and Sirius had given him money to support himself for awhile, he’d decided shortly after James and Lily’s wedding that he would take care of himself.

Lily was regretting agreeing to this, because he looked like something that had crawled out of a grave.

“So, what are you doing here?” asked Remus in his soft, hoarse voice that always sounded distinctly as though he’d been eating tin cans all day. “I’m guessing it’s not to enjoy the smooth ride?”

Lily sighed as the bus went over another particularly nasty bump. “Believe it or not, I’m just going to get my hair cut. I can’t Apparate or Floo anywhere anymore… that’s the problem being a Muggle-born when the Death Eaters are controlling the Ministry. What about you?”

“Oh, I’m just… looking for another job,” Remus replied vaguely. Lily could understand why he didn’t elaborate. She’d heard him say he was going to the Leaky Cauldron, and if he was applying for a job there, he was really getting desperate.

“But why the Knight Bus?” prompted Lily. “You’re half-blood, you’re safe.”

Remus shrugged. “There are aspects of my life I don’t necessarily want the Death Eaters to know. I always feel a little paranoid when I think about the fact that they can track me and know where I’m going.” He paused. “And, wonderful, now I sound like I go to questionable parts of town and get involved with all kinds of illicit activities in my free time.”

Lily laughed. The idea of relatively mild-mannered, even-tempered Remus getting involved with illicit activities of any kind was pretty humorous. But she was also a little irritated that Remus didn’t come right out and tell her what he was doing. She’d known Remus for years, and her husband was one of his best friends. It wasn’t like he had anything to hide from her.

“I missed you at Amos and Claudia’s,” she said, changing the subject. “Mainly because James and Sirius and Peter could have used your good influence.”

Remus looked slightly pained. “Ah. Were they, by any chance, singing ‘Voldy Got Run Over By a Hippogriff’?”

“Er, actually, ‘Frogs Go Pop’, ‘Roadkill Stew’, and that delightful Shaving Cream Song.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I miss it.”

“Oh, believe me, it wasn’t once-in-a-lifetime. James was singing the Shaving Cream Song all last night. Did you know it has seventeen verses?” Lily gave him a rather desperate smile. “I haven’t seen you with the other guys as much lately�”not that I blame you. What have you been up to?”

Remus raised and lowered his shoulder noncommittally. “I’ve been pretty busy,” he said. “This and that. I’ll be at the Oggs’ New Years party, though.” The bus lurched, then crashed to a halt, giving Lily a delightful idea of what a fly on a windshield might feel like.

Remus gathered up his bag and his internal organs. “Well, this is my stop,” he said mildly. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” said Lily as Remus climbed dizzily down the steps of the bus and walked into the Leaky Cauldron.

She sat back in her seat. James, Sirius, and Peter were acting like idiots, Snape was blackmailing her, and now Remus was being distant and vague. Given the pattern, she was sure her hairdresser would do something horrible to her now. And what was with Remus, anyway?

Suddenly, a small folded scrap of paper caught her eye on the seat opposite her. She didn’t know what it was about it that made her pick it up and open it, but she did in any case.

And felt her heart jump into her throat for reasons entirely unrelated to the Knight Bus.

The paper read:

“Order Members-- I’ve been really busy, and I know all of you have questions for me. I will be at the Oggs’ New Years party if you want to talk to me. Come to the spare dining room at exactly eleven o’ clock. There are spies looking out for me and the Order members, and it’s hard to tell who is a friend and who is a foe.
Be careful, because things are getting even more dangerous now. But remember, we’re called the Order of the Phoenix for a reason! And our motto is not “Into the fire we go,” just because we’re pyromaniacs! Well, only some of us, in any case.
--The Phoenix.”

Lily gasped. “Remus…”

And at the front of the bus, the conductor was watching her very closely. Desiderius Cairnwright adjusted the stolen Knight Bus uniform and smiled to himself. The Phoenix had had a good idea in this disguise business. It worked like a charm.

* * * * * *

“Hi, honey, I’m home!” James called, slamming the door loudly.

Lily looked up from her book. The one she’d been trying so hard to write and had just gotten into the groove, the groove that had been spoiled when James had slammed the door. “It’s really late, James. Where were you?”

“Working late at Zonko’s,” James chirped. Lily knew exactly what ‘working late’ usually meant, but this was James, and he had exactly the kind of juvenile mind that delighted in messing about with biting teacups until three in the morning. “And then the guys wanted to go to Hogsmeade, so we did.”

“I saw Remus on the Knight Bus today,” noted Lily casually.

James flopped onto the sofa and put his muddy old shoes up onto the table. “Yeah, he doesn’t hang out with us as much anymore. He’s out at night a lot. We reckon maybe he’s got some new night job… or a girlfriend.” He made a noise that, on a prepubescent girl, would have been a giggle. “Love a duck, it’s about time.”

Lily wished James wouldn’t say ‘love a duck.’ It was quite possibly the stupidest saying she’d ever heard, and thusly, James’s favourite. And it was spreading. He seemed to be starting a trend, because she’d heard other men around his age using it as if it didn’t make them sound like eighty-year-old women.

“A girlfriend for Remus would be nice. He doesn’t look too good,” said Lily. “I really hope he’s okay.”

James nodded thoughtfully. “We,” he said in a slow and contemplative voice, “should really get an air hockey table.”

“Do you know what air hockey is?” Lily inquired politely, being of Muggle stock and aware that a pureblood like James probably had no more idea of what air hockey was than of who John Lennon was.

“No. But it sounds kind of cool.”

Lily sighed. She was not feeling her best, and James didn’t really help, unless she needed help with the Let’s See How High We Can Get Lily’s Blood Pressure To Go Game. She knew that made her an awful and cruel person, but she couldn’t deny the fact that her husband was the kind of man who was entertaining in very small doses, in a “at least I’m not married to him” kind of way, and, well, she was.

And she, unlike James, had a lot on her mind. She knew she hadn’t seen the last of Snape, and she hoped she hadn’t seen the last of Remus. Snape had convinced his pal Voldemort to spare Lily’s life, along with the lives of her whole family, in exchange for information about who the Phoenix was. And now she was fairly certain she knew who it was.

Remus Lupin was not the most intelligent of the group of men who liked to refer to themselves as the Marauders in order to sound like edgy, authority-flouting pirates or something. James and Sirius had been the really bright, creative, talented ones in school, believe it or not. But Remus was the practical one, the one who had a mischievous streak as opposed to James’s tiny sliver of sanity embedded in the ooze of wackiness that was his mind.

And Remus was the only one who talked politics. Sirius was the one who really tried to be edgy and authority-flouting and attractively disestablishmentarian, but Lily was sure he didn’t know what he was rebelling against, and not in a rebel-without-a-cause kind of way.

And Remus was the sensitive one who really got upset about things like discrimination. He was in Gryffindor. He was resourceful. He was looking haggard, spending less time with his friends, keeping secrets, unemployed, running places at night.

All the pieces fit. He had to be the Phoenix.

And if Lily didn’t turn him in, someone else would…

Suddenly, Lily knew what to do. She was just as much of a Gryffindor as Remus. If he could be the Phoenix, so could she. She would turn in his name to Lord Voldemort, but before he could get his scaly hands on Remus, she would rescue him. And then she would take over his job.

Maybe she could fake her own death so no one would suspect her. The one thing everyone seemed to know about the Phoenix was that he was male, in any case. She would be safe, Remus would be safe, Petunia and her creepily-mustached husband would be safe, and her conscience would be secure.

But she had to take it slowly. She had to make sure she was right about Remus. First, she would go to the Oggs’ New Years party and go to the spare dining room at exactly eleven o’clock and see for sure who this Phoenix was.

“Lils?” James was waving a large rubber chicken back and forth in front of her face, his voice sounding concerned. “You okay?”

His face was earnest, and, for once, serious. Lily’s stomach squirmed as she looked up at his face. She knew he wasn’t classically attractive, but something inside her went twing at the sight of James’s thin, angular face, his long nose and wide smile, the way his glasses were always slightly crooked over his bright, eager hazel eyes. She even liked the way his hair perpetually looked as though it had been through a weed whacker.

Lily had a good memory. She wrote the romance in her stories from experience. James had always been clever and fun and witty and just sappy enough, just serious enough. She remembered what he’d been like just two months before, and then suddenly, he wasn’t anymore. This was the first time since they’d gotten married that he sounded anything like the old James.


She felt sad, hollow pangs much like the feeling she got every year shortly after New Years when she deprived herself of chocolate for a few days before breaking her resolution and binging on chocolate frogs. She missed James. She knew he was right in the same room with him, but apparently, his brain hadn’t followed him.


“Are you all right?” repeated James. “Anything you want to tell me?”

“Er… I’m fine,” said Lily. “Just thinking… do you want to go to the Oggs’ New Years Party?”

James grinned. “You know me. I’m the life of the party. Love a duck, I thought something was wrong! You looked so serious! Maybe I can wear my tailcoat with the fake plastic buttocks and�””

“I think it’s formal,” Lily told him lightly.

“Maybe we should get a cat instead of an air hockey table,” said James. “Cats are cool. This one bloke in Slovakia got his jugular vein ripped out by his cat. Sirius told me.”

James had the attention span of a gnat. But at least he wasn’t talking about plastic buttocks anymore. “That’s actually a good idea,” said Lily. “I’ve always wanted a cat, but Petunia was allergic.”

James nodded. “Sirius hates cats. He’s more of a dog person. Remus, too�”I mean, he probably eats cats, but he doesn’t like them as pets. And Pete… Pete’s scared of cats. He thinks they’ll eat him.”

Peter was a shy, well-intentioned, honest man with the unfortunate strong resemblance to a pregnant hamster. It made sense that he would be afraid of a cat eating him, sad as it sounded.

“I think we should name our cat something cool. Like Guadalupe. Or James. Or Balthazar. Or Jafar. Or James. Or Mister Mistoffellees. Or Tyrone. Or Mustapha. Or James. Yeah, I think I pretty much covered all of the cool names.”

Lily wasn’t paying attention to her husband’s rambling monologue of sentence fragments on the naming of cats. She had other things on her mind, like the Phoenix. She had a serious plan, and it wasn’t just one of her everyday games.

“I read the news today,” said James.

“Oh boy,” Lily replied absentmindedly.

It really was sad that James didn’t know who John Lennon was.

“The Phoenix is still at it. Wish I knew who he was.”

Lily laughed. “Me, too.”

“Yeah, you would.” Lily stared. Her husband’s voice was uncharacteristically harsh, his eyes cold… but it must have been her imagination, because when she looked again, he had the same expression of good-natured idiocy as usual.

“I think Harry is an awesome name,” James said. “’Cause cats are hairy, you know? It’s a pune, or play on words.”

“It’s pronounced ‘pun,’” said Lily, who was almost happy to see James return to being a pea-brained goofball. Although the mangling of words was an offense that, to Lily, deserved a public hanging at the very least.

James nodded. “Do we have marshmallows, ketchup, Swiss cheese, and bananas?”

“Er… I think so,” said Lily. “Is this the opening line of some kind of dirty joke?”

“No, I just want to make a sandwich,” James said merrily, heading for the kitchen. Lily checked her watch. Yep, she hadn’t been hallucinating. It really was after midnight.

“Don’t you want to go to bed?” she asked.

“Go on ahead,” James called from the kitchen, his mouth full of his horrific sandwich.

Lily picked up her notepad and her quill and yawned widely, starting her way up the steps alone. Her mind was full of so many thoughts that it hurt. She wished she could share them with James. After all, he had plenty of empty space available in his head.

* * * * * *

Oh, you were once that someone who I followed like a star
Then suddenly, you changed, and now I don’t know who you are.
Or could it be that I never really knew you from the start?
Did I create a dream? Was he a fantasy?
Even a memory is paradise for all the fools like me.
Now remembering is all that I can do
Because I miss him so when I look at you.

They say he has enormous feet and that he tends to overeat
I hear he’s fussy with his food and eats his breakfast in the nude.
Whatever doubts you may employ, he’s England’s pride and joy.
He’s plucky in his tricks, he’s lucky with the chicks.
Who is that blasted Phoenix?

It was amazing how good for business this Order of the Phoenix thing was. All of the shaken refugees stumbling into La Tête Du Porc were desperate for a drink, and Aberforth was all too happy to cater to them. He’d made more money since coming to France than he had in all of his years in the Hogs’ Head.

The only bad part was having to work more. One of these days, he’d find a clever way to get around that little obstruction, and then he’d have it made.

The little bell on the door jingled as a skinny man with a dark ponytail trudged inside and collapsed into a chair, which promptly broke. The skinny man gave out a little high-pitched screech, then sheepishly got up and edged toward a rather sturdier-looking barstool.

“Sorry about that,” he said to Aberforth, shrugging, then paused. “PAR-lay voo Ang--”

“Can’t you read the sign?” demanded Aberforth, pointing crankily at the large, badly-spelled sign over the bar reading, ABSALUTLEY NO SAYIN PARLAY VOO ANGLAYS IN THIS PUB OR ELSE. “Look, I’m Aberforth Dumbledore, I worked at the Hog’s Head, my high-and-mighty brother made me come here, I don’t speak French. Do I have to go through this with everyone who comes through this door?”

The man gave him a jittery smile. “Well, I’m sorry, only I’m a little shaken up. Would you believe I�””

“Let me guess,” said Aberforth, his voice dryer than his pub had been during Prohibition. “Phoenix rescue?” He snorted. “Just like everyone else in this room. Well, ‘cept me.”

The man looked very intimidated. He was a small, bandy-legged, clean-shaven youth, just the kind of kid Aberforth would have pushed into a vanishing cabinet at school. “It was a big deal for me,” he muttered, staring into his lap.

“Look, let me get you a drink,” said Aberforth.

“Oh, no, I don’t drink alcohol,” said the young man. Aberforth threw up his hands in irritation. He deserved to be paid a lot more than the cost of a drink for having to look at this soppy kid, and he wasn’t even going to buy anything?

The young man brightened. “Anyway, I’m Raphael Smitts.” He held out his hand for a handshake.

Aberforth rolled his eyes. “If you really want to catch all the goat diseases I’m a carrier for, be my guest.”

Predictably, Smitts withdrew his hand, but he didn’t stop talking. He leaned in closer to Aberforth, smelling of lavender. Aberforth was of the great belief that this was highly unnatural. The only herb that real men should smell of was garlic. “Anyway,” Smitts said in what he probably thought was a shrewd voice, “so, you’re in the Order of the Phoenix, huh?”

“Unfortunately, yeah. Unfortunately for me, and for everyone else in it. But they’re paying for the booze I sell, so that’s twice as much money for me, and I can’t complain.” Aberforth glared, and continued in what actually was a shrewd voice, “But if you want to know anything about the Phoenix, I can’t tell you. They think I’m not trustworthy. Probably ‘cause I’m not, but ehhhh.”

Smitts’s eyes widened. “Wow! They don’t even tell everyone in the Order who the Phoenix is!” he gushed loudly. “I think that the Phoenix is secretly an undercover Death Eater.”

“I heard she’s a woman!” yelled someone from a nearby table.

A big man laughed. “No, sorry, I got a note from him. Definitely a bloke’s handwriting.”

“Yeah, it’s the guy who runs Honeydukes.”

“Everyone knows the Phoenix is a vampire. That’s how he can get from place to place so fast.”

“But vampires are evil!”

“Yeah, but ten houses in one night? He’d have to be Father Christmas if not a vampire.”

Aberforth’s glare turned into something more like a Death Ray. “Now see what you’ve started,” he hissed, knocking over a glass in anger. Smitts didn’t even flinch, which was most unsatisfying. “Now everyone’s gonna start running around calling everyone and his brother the Phoenix.”

“Oh, they already are,” said Smitts in a curiously grave tone. “Like yours.”

Aberforth cocked a bushy eyebrow. “I know you’re an idiot, son, but now you’re a blibbering idiot. What on goat’s green earth are you talking about?” Smitts blanched, and he began stammering incoherently. This wasn’t such an unusual thing in Aberforth’s pub, but not for people who hadn’t drunk a great deal of alcohol. “What is it, boy?” he demanded. “Spit it out!”

“I… I thought you knew,” stuttered Smitts. “Y-your brother’s been arrested. For being the Phoenix.”

* * * * * *

Albus Dumbledore sat calmly in his chained chair in the Wizengamot, his long-fingered hands folded in his lap and his half-moon spectacles perched low on his nose. “Ah,” he said pleasantly. “So I understand I’m to be sent to Azkaban?”

The brutal-faced Death Eater who now headed the Wizengamot after Voldemort’s coup in the Ministry did not smile. “Yes.”

“Oh dear,” Dumbledore sighed. “I don’t remember there being a law against saving lives when I was the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. I’m afraid I’m behind the times. Age makes even the best of men foolish.”

The brutal-faced Death Eater banged his gavel, as though fantasizing that it was smashing the top of the old man’s head. “Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, alias The Phoenix, you are found guilty of treason and will spend twenty-five years in Azkaban.”

“Is that so?” asked Dumbledore mildly. He pulled something out of his pocket and began to fiddle around with it absentmindedly.

Instantly, everyone in the room leapt to their feet. “He has a wand!” yelled a man at the back of the room, ducking.

Dumbledore chuckled. “No, no, this is a sherbet lemon, which is a sort of sweet and not dangerous at all, except for possibly causing dental trouble. I don’t quite see how it can be confused with a wand.” He paused and drew something else out of his pocket. “This is, in fact, my wand,” he continued serenely.

Everyone in the room leapt to their feet again, except for the man in the back of the room, who was shielding himself with the rather large woman in front of him.

Slowly and deliberately, Dumbledore raised his wand… and handed it to the brutal-faced Death Eater.

“To Azkaban I must go, then,” he said in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. “I trust I’m allowed a toothbrush. Incidentally, would anyone else care for a sherbet lemon?”

The Death Eaters in the Wizengamot squinted confusedly at each other. Dumbledore always had a trick up his sleeve, no exceptions. They weren’t expecting him to come quietly. What was he planning? He’d simply walked out of his house when the Death Eaters arrived to take him by force. He’d handed his wand over. He’d allowed himself to be taken to Azkaban. He’d admitted to being the Phoenix. How could he let himself be captured so easily?

Dumbledore smiled to himself. Each House, he’d realized, had its merits and its downfalls, and Slytherin was too crafty for its own good. The Death Eaters never would realize that not having a trick up his sleeve was the best trick of all.

* * * * * *

“DUMBLEDORE?” squawked Lily, and then, because she still couldn’t believe it, shouted again. “DUMBLEDORE? He can’t be the Phoenix! I mean… DUMBLEDORE?”

James paused in pulling on his dress robes. “Why are you yelling ‘Dumbledore’ so much?” he asked. “I mean, I know, it’s a really cool name… sometimes I just like to yell ‘pudding…’”

Lily stared at him. Did James just live in his own little world all day long, a world where everything was happy and perfect and innocent? Did he never listen to the Wizarding Wireless or read the Daily Prophet? “James,” she said slowly, “haven’t you heard? Dumbledore’s been arrested for being the Phoenix. He’s going to be in Azkaban for twenty-five years.” She was shaking with rage. “He’s an old man! He can’t be the Phoenix! And he probably won’t live for twenty-five more years.”

She flopped down on her bed, feeling horrible. She was not in the mood to go to the Oggs’ party, especially since her one aim in going there was in proving that Remus was the Phoenix. Now, it was proven that Dumbledore was the Phoenix… but he couldn’t be…

“James, can you imagine the wizarding world without Dumbledore? Hogwarts without Dumbledore? How can he let them catch him like this?”

James shrugged slowly. “Love a duck, he’s Dumbledore. He’s always got something up his sleeve. He’ll be fine.” He smiled. “Can’t believe I didn’t see it was Dumbledore before! I mean, he’s got a Phoenix.”

Lily kept staring at him, hoping that he’d rip off his James Potter mask and shout, “SURPRISE! It’s me, an escaped loony!”

“You can’t escape from Azkaban,” she said. “Nobody has. Even he’s not perfect.” She sighed. “I really don’t want to go to the party.”

James squinted. “But why?”

Lily’s mouth flopped open. Did he hear himself? Did he hear her? Albus Dumbledore had been arrested for being the Phoenix. Dumbledore was gone AND the Phoenix was gone, two of the only people who had given her hope lately. How could she want to celebrate?

“Hey, isn’t it good to do fun stuff when you feel bad?” James asked, rubbing her back. “Let’s go to the party. It’ll take your mind off it. Come on, I have a can of nuts with a rubber basilisk that jumps out at you when you open it. I can’t let a trick like that go to waste.”

“Maybe it’ll take YOUR mind off of it!” shouted Lily, unable to take it anymore. “You’re incredible! You’ve got the mind of a little kid! None of this stuff even matters to you… all you care about is having fun! It’s like you don’t know there’s a world around you, and that that world really, really stinks!!!”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she hadn’t said them. James gaped, and for a moment, his face was full of shock and hurt. He looked unbelievably young, like an innocent child who had just been told that there was no Easter Puffskein.

Wow, said Lily’s conscience, who she’d decided to name Katie after her editor. You’ve reached new lows.

I know, thought Lily. I can’t believe I yelled at James like that. He looks like he’s about to cry.

Oh, not that, Katie said. “You just used eight exclamation points… three in a row. How could you?

Lily stared back at James, and neither of them spoke for what seemed like forever. Babies were born, old men died, a cat cried out in the distance (probably because someone threw another rock at it), a tree fell in the forest, and Mrs. MacGinnis next door yelled at her creepy son for bringing more dead polecats into the house.

“I’m sorry,” Lily said at last. “I… I didn’t mean that.” She flinched. She hated being dishonest, and the truth was, she did mean it. She just hadn’t meant to say it.

James looked deep into her eyes. “Do we have any cans of turkey chili lying around?” he asked. “Because that stuff is really good.”

He hopped off the bed and left the room, making his way downstairs, leaving Lily mouthing wordlessly at thin air. She couldn’t believe him, she really couldn’t. Her mother had been right when she’d said that marriage was a new adventure everyday, but it was the kind of adventure where you got lost in the overgrown tangles of brush, got your provisions eaten by hippos, got devoured alive by mosquitos, caught malaria, and ended up tied to a spit at a pygmy camp. James never ceased to amaze her with his unbelievable shallowness and infinitesimal attention span.

Lily was all for trying to look on the bright side, trying to keep her spirits up in dark times. But there were limits. It wasn’t always best to smile and get on with life.

Suddenly, she remembered. Just a few days after her wedding, Lily had been sitting in the hotel room, lying back on the bed, and James had been sitting at the table, staring at the Daily Prophet. She remembered exactly how he’d looked, curiously rigid and cold, as though he was some sort of ancient ice mummy. His eyes had been dark, and his expression had been one of anger and fear and sadness all at once. He’d crumpled up the newspaper and reduced it to dust with a spell.

“James,” Lily had said playfully, using a criminal amount of exclamation points, “don’t worry about the news! This is our honeymoon! Relax! Have some fun!”

She laughed bitterly. It looked like James had taken her advice.

Was he angry with her? Had he been so serious about what he was reading in the newspaper, so offended by Lily’s suggestion that he lighten up, that he would act like this happy, mindless idiot to prove to Lily that she’d been insensitive?

Or was he truly trying to make her happy? Did he really think that as the man of the house, what she wanted was to feel secure, unworried by the atrocities going on in the world? That she wanted him to make her life an endless stream of blissful ignorance?

Life was complicated enough without having to worry about James. Maybe she was overanalyzing, as always. Maybe James had just changed, absorbed himself so much in his work at Zonko’s that he truly didn’t care about anything but a good laugh anymore.

At least, she thought darkly, he was comic relief. She wasn’t getting much of it lately.


* * * * * *

Dumbledore was the Phoenix. It was ridiculous, it was unbelievable, and it was true. Snape kicked at a large rock on the street in front of him, and immediately wished he hadn’t. It was the kind of rock too large for kicking. He heard his toe bones crack.

Snape didn’t wear socks, and so a miasma of odor surrounded him as he sat down and pulled off his shoes to check his toes, but he was too deep in thought to notice the smell. Besides, he was used to it.

Dumbledore was the Phoenix. Desiderius Cairnwright had come to the conclusion, something about tracking owls to the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, something about Dumbledore receiving mail… He’d admitted to being in charge of the Order of the Phoenix.

It was unbelievable, but Snape felt… sad about all of this. He was a Death Eater; he should be rejoicing about the capture of the Phoenix. But Dumbledore… Dumbledore had always been the person he’d respected most when he’d been a student at Hogwarts. Unlike that stupid, fawning Slughorn, Dumbledore had seemed to genuinely understand Snape’s talents.

Snape had never liked Dumbledore�”he made such a show of being all twinkly and grandfatherly and light-hearted, when clearly it was all just an act. And even worse, he hated the Dark Arts, always acted all… concerned and disappointed that Snape found them fascinating. As if Dumbledore hadn’t once been interested the Dark Arts. Someone as intelligent as he was couldn’t go without being drawn to power.

But Snape, who didn’t much like anyone, couldn’t deny the fact that Dumbledore was quite possibly the most powerful wizard alive, and he had to appreciate that. Someone like him couldn’t just go to jail.

It wasn’t Dumbledore, though, that really bothered him. It was the fact that that stupid coward Desiderius Cairnwright had caught him. It was unbelievable. And… if he was already caught, then Lily Evans… Lily Potter wouldn’t be able to do it.

There was nothing that could be done. Lily would die. Snape felt a strange sensation twist his guts, something quite like an amazingly large, slimy worm crawl up his oesophagus.

Lily hadn’t spoken to him civilly since fifth year, just for one little slip of the tongue. He’d called her a Mudblood. Big deal. But… the thing was… even a tiny part of Snape had to admit that it was a very big deal indeed. The Dark Arts were one thing. They were interesting. Muggles… well, Muggles were just stupid, his own father was living proof of that. But he couldn’t understand what was wrong with perfectly intelligent, capable witches and wizards of Muggle stock. Lily was amazingly talented… and very beautiful, of course. He was supposed to hate her because her parents were Muggles, but she wasn’t a Muggle. She was just as magical as he was. It didn’t make sense, and he didn’t hate her.

In fact, he loved her.

Snape felt his neck tense so much that his head nearly exploded. There was absolutely no way he’d thought that. All right, he thought about her all the time. Who wouldn’t? She was in danger. They’d been friends once. Of course he felt guilty. Of course he wanted to save her. That didn’t mean he loved her, just that he felt responsible for Voldemort planning on killing her.

He’d liked her in school. He hadn’t known many girls. He’d grown up. He was over it. He wasn’t one to draw hearts on his parchment and sing love songs in the shower. This was mainly because he didn’t shower, but that wasn’t the point.

Love was for stupid people, people who didn’t have any other way to occupy their time and brain power, shallow, hormonal people obsessed with physical appearance and… that other thing. Lily was very attractive, of course… he could stare at her forever… that didn’t mean anything. It was ridiculous. Voldemort had said hundreds of times that there was no such thing as love, that it was useless.

But he remembered what it had been like when she’d called him her best friend. They’d laughed so much. He couldn’t remember laughing in a long, long time. Well, derisive snorts at others’ expense all the time, but that didn’t really count. He remembered talking to her every day, and how important he’d felt.

When he’d begged Voldemort to keep Lily and her family alive if she would turn in the Phoenix, he’d seen what he what he was doing as saving Lily’s life, rescuing her. He wanted her to live.

It was as simple as that. He didn’t want to keep her alive so that he could “have” her, like she was some kind of gift he wanted to buy. He realized that there was no way she’d come leaping into his arms shouting, “My hero! Why did I want that James idiot, anyway? Have I mentioned that I find gigantic zit-covered noses incredibly sexy?” He was realistic. He’d seen the look of disgust on her face, heard the hate in her voice when he’d spoken to her at the Diggorys’.

He… cared about her, he could admit that much. The idea of her being happy and safe made him… well, not happy. The words ‘happy’ and ‘Snape’ did not go together. ‘Happy’ went on the list of other unSnapely words like ‘shampoo’ and ‘lederhosen’ and ‘kitten’ and ‘lollipop’ and ‘karaoke’ and ‘tango-dancing with Lily under the moonlight wearing matching Gothic-Victorian costumes.’

Ack. He had to stop thinking about that last one, really. But all he knew was that Dumbledore had been caught, and Lily would die. It was hard enough not talking to her anymore… he didn’t know where he would be if he knew he would never be able to again.

It would be worse than shampoo, that was for sure.

Where’s the girl who could turn on the edge of a knife
Where’s the girl who was burning for life
I can still feel her breathing beside me…
Come again, let the girl in your heart tumble free
Bring your renegade heart home to me.
In the dark of the morning, I’ll warm you, I’ll rouse you…