DISCOVERING THE FUTURE:

THE DEATHLY HALLOWS

A Work of Fan-Fiction By

DraconLord

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am merely enjoying myself by writing this fan-fiction.

Summary: Thought I’d just write this for the fun of it. Three of the Marauders, one imperious Head Girl, and the Headmaster and Deputy Head of Hogwarts end up at Potter Manor over the summer before the MPP/L’s seventh year. They end up reading Deathly Hallows.

James Potter sat in his room at Potter Manor, looking out at the torrential rain that had suddenly swarmed that day. Two of his best friends, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, were there as well. Sitting across from James and the two Marauders was an unexpected figure. Lily Evans, the new Head Girl, had been assigned to negotiate a truce by the end of summer with James, who had been named Head Boy. Albus Dumbledore, their headmaster, had made it clear that they should stick together for the whole summer, meaning that they had to be at either Lily’s house or James’s. Deciding it would not help her sister’s attitude towards magic to have any of the Marauders show up, Lily had opted to stay at the Potters for the summer.

James said, “Okay, what do you want to do, Evans?”

Lily raised one elegant eyebrow and said, “You’re actually asking my opinion, Potter?”

James shrugged and said, “Well, you can’t suggest anything worse than Remus would.”

“Hey, watch what you’re saying, James!” said Remus good-naturedly. Without warning, at the very moment Remus said this, a large book, obviously muggle-bound, appeared over Sirius’ head and dropped on it.

Sirius said, “What the hell! Er, I mean heck, Evans!”

Lily said, “Sure you did, Black. Whatever you say. Now, hand that book over so you don’t rip it to shreds.” Sirius rolled his eyes, but handed the large tome over to her. She opened it carefully after scanning it for dangerous charms, and read the title page. She frowned, and said, “Potter, do you have any relatives named Harry?”

James said, “Just my grandfather, but he died fighting Grindlewald. Why?”

Lily said, “Because the title of this book is Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I’ve never heard of anything like that. Well, since we’re all bored, we might as well read this book. Let’s see, what’s the publication date . . . bloody hell!”

James smirked and said, “Language, Evans,” before she showed him the date of publication. July 21, 2007. The book was from thirty years in the future. The other Marauders looked at the publication date and were also shocked.

Lily frowned for a moment, than said, “Er, isn’t there four Marauders? Where’s little Pettigrew?”

James said, “His mother wanted to take a holiday to the continent, so he’s with her until the last three days of vacation. He’ll come here then.” Lily nodded, and asked who wanted to read first. Remus, ever the bookworm, volunteered.

Remus cleared his throat and said, “The first chapter is entitled…. What in blazes!”

“What?” said the other three in the room.

Remus swallowed and said in a slightly fearful tone, “The Dark Lord Ascending.”

James said, “Good Lord. They can’t mean Voldemort, can they?”

“Only one way to find out,” said Remus, who than began to read.

The two men appeared out of no where, a few yards apart, in the narrow, moonlit lane. For a second they stood quite still, wands directed at each other’s chests; then, recognizing each other, they stowed their wands beneath their cloaks and started walking briskly in the same direction.

“News?” asked the taller of the two.

“The best,” replied Severus Snape.

Sirius’s jaw dropped, as did Lily Evans’s, as she had been friends with Snape until their fifth year, due to his calling her a Mudblood. “He’s a Death Eater?” she asked weakly.

Remus replied just as weakly, “It looks like it.”

The lane was bordered on the left by wild, low-growing brambles, on the right by a high, neatly manicured hedge. The men’s long cloaks flapped around their ankles as they marched.

“Thought I might be late,” said Yaxley, his blunt features sliding in and out of sight as the branches of overhanging trees broke the moonlight. “It was a little trickier than I expected. But I hope he will be satisfied. You sound confident that your reception will be good?”

James said, “Dad’s said there’s a Yaxley amongst the Death Eaters. That means Voldemort is still around at whatever time this is written. I hate Snape, I’ll admit it, but I never thought he actually would join the Death Eaters. He always seemed more interested in Potions than anything else.”

Remus said, “Yes, but I bet Voldemort wants potions masters as well as spell-casters.” The others nodded in agreement.

Snape nodded, but did not elaborate. They turned right, into a wide driveway that led off the lane. The high hedge curved with them, running off into the distance beyond the pair of impressive wrought-iron gates barring the men’s way. Neither of them broke step: In silence both raised their left arms in a kind of salute and passed straight through, as though the dark metal were smoke.

“Death Eater magic,” muttered Sirius under his breath, though everyone privately agreed with his assumption.

The yew hedges muffled the sound of the men’s footsteps. There was a rustle somewhere to their right: Yaxley drew his wand again, pointing it over his companion’s head, but the source of the noise proved to be nothing more than a pure-white peacock, strutting majestically along the top of the hedge.

“He always fancied himself well, Lucius. Peacocks. . .” Yaxley thrust his wand back under his cloak with a snort.

“Malfoy Manor,” said Sirius in a flat tone. “That’s got to be where it is.”

A handsome manor house grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight drive, lights glinting in the diamond-paned downstairs windows. Somewhere in the dark garden beyond the hedge a fountain was playing. Gravel crackled beneath their feet as Snape and Yaxley sped toward the front door, which swung inward at their approach, though nobody had visibly opened it.

Sirius grunted and said, “House-elves. The Malfoys have plenty of them.”

Lily raised an eyebrow at Sirius, wondering how he knew all of this. James made a motion for her to wait, and then motioned to Remus to continue.

The hallway was large, dimly lit, and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering most of the stone floor. The eyes of the pale-faced portraits on the walls followed Snape and Yaxley as they strode past. The two men halted at a heavy wooden door leading into the next room, hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, then Snape turned the bronze handle.

The drawing room was full of silent people, sitting at a long and ornate table. The room’s usual furniture had been pushed carelessly up against the walls. Illumination came from a roaring fire beneath a handsome marble mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded mirror. Snape and Yaxley lingered for a moment on the threshold. As their eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light, they were drawn upward to the strangest feature of the scene: an apparently unconscious human figure hanging upside down over the table, revolving slowly as if suspended by an invisible rope, and reflected in the mirror and in the bare, polished surface of the table below. None of the people seated under this singular sight was looking at it except for a pale young man sitting almost directly below it. He seemed unable to prevent himself from glancing upward every minute or so.

“I bet the boy is Lucius’s son,” said Sirius, and the others agreed, since there was no others they could think of that would be there from the families they knew of.

“Yaxley, Snape,” said a high, clear voice from the head of the table. “You are very nearly late.”

The speaker was sitting directly in front of the fireplace, so that it was difficult, at first, for the new arrivals to make out more than his silhouette. As they drew nearer, however, his face shown through the gloom, hairless, snakelike, with slits for nostrils and gleaming red eyes whose pupils were vertical. He was so pale that he seemed to emit a pearly glow.

“Severus, here,” said Voldemort, indicating the seat on his immediate right. “Yaxley –beside Dolohov.”

James’s mouth was open like a goldfish, Sirius was hyperventilating, and Remus seemed to be trying to calm himself through meditation. Lily said shakily, “He’s Voldemort’s right hand man!? What kind of creep was I friends with for the first five years!”

James said, “The worst kind.” Lily nodded, and James put an arm around her, for once not trying to get her to go out with him, but because she needed someone to keep her safe. Lily leaned in, her emerald green eyes shining with tears of betrayal.

The two men took their allotted places. Most of the eyes around the table followed Snape, and it was to him that Voldemort spoke first.

“So?”

“My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday next, at night fall.”

James said in a deathly whisper, “If Harry is related to me in any way, Snape is mine!” The other Marauders nodded, and Lily quietly volunteered her own Charms expertise. She felt a great sense of responsibility to this Harry, even though she did not know him, nor did she think he was related to her. After all, the Potters were purebloods, and she was a Muggle-born.

The interest around the table sharpened palpably: Some stiffened, others fidgeted, all gazing at Snape and Voldemort.

“Saturday . . . at nightfall,” repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon Snape’s black ones with such an intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape, however, looked calmly back into Voldemort’s face and, after a moment or two, Voldemort’s lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.

“Good. Very good. And this information comes—”

“— from the source we discussed,” said Snape.

“My Lord.”

Yaxley had leaned forward to look down the long table at Voldemort and Snape. All faces turned to him.

“My Lord, I have heard differently.”

Yaxley waited, but Voldemort did not speak, so he went on, “Dawlish, the Auror, let slip that Potter will not be moved until the night before the boy turns seventeen.”

James said, “So, he’s nearly of age and the Trace will be gone. But what’s this got to do with why Voldemort’s after this Harry?”

Sirius said, “Maybe he pissed him off.”

Remus said, “No, that’s more something that you would do, Sirius.”

Sirius could not make a comeback, since it was completely true.

Snape was smiling.

James shivered, as did the other Marauders. Lily looked at them in confusion. “Usually, when Snape smiles at anyone, even an ally, it means nothing good for that person. You’re probably the only one he never did anything to until fifth year, Lily,” said Remus. Lily nodded, and the three Marauders recovered quickly.

“My source tells me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm has been placed upon Dawlish. It would not be the first time; he is known to be susceptible.”

“I assure you, my Lord, Dawlish seemed quite certain,” said Yaxley.

“If he has been Confunded, naturally he is certain,” said Snape. “I assure you, Yaxley, the Auror office will play no further part in the protection of Harry Potter. The Order believes that we have infiltrated the Ministry.”

“The Order’s got one thing right, then, eh?” said a squat man sitting a short distance from Yaxley; he gave a wheezy giggle that was echoed here and there along the table.

Voldemort did not laugh. His gaze had wandered upward to the body revolving slowly overhead, and he seemed to be lost in thought.

“My Lord,” Yaxley went on, “Dawlish believes an entire party of Aurors will be used to transfer the boy—”

Voldemort held up a large white hand, and Yaxley subsided at once, watching resentfully as Voldemort turned back to Snape.

“Where are they going to hide the boy next?”

“At the home of one of the Order,” said Snape. “The place, according to the source, has been given every protection that the Order and Ministry together could provide. I think that there is little chance of taking him once he is there, my Lord, unless, of course, the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchantments to break through the rest.”

“Man, they really are trying hard to get their hands on Harry,” said Sirius worriedly. “If he is being hunted like this, he must be really important, even if he is a teenager.”

“Well, Yaxley?” Voldemort called down the table, the firelight glinting strangely in his red eyes. “Will the Ministry have fallen by next Saturday?”

Once again, all heads turned. Yaxley squared his shoulders.

“My Lord, I have good news on that score. I have – with difficulty, and after great effort – succeeded in placing an Imperius Curse on Pius Thicknesse.”

Many of those sitting around Yaxley looked impressed; his neighbor, Dolohov, a man with a long, twisted face, clapped him on the back.

“It is a start,” said Voldemort. “But Thicknesse is only one man. Scrimgeour must be surrounded by our people before I act. One failed attempt on the Minister’s life will set me back a long way.”

“Good heavens,” said Remus, looking aghast. “They’re actually trying to take command of the Ministry itself? He hasn’t tried that yet! But why would he take all that time to do so when he’s so powerful now?”

“Yes – my Lord, that is true – but you know, as Head of the Department o Magical Law Enforcement, Thicknesse has regular contact with not only the Minister himself, but also with the Heads of all the other Ministry departments. It will, I think, be easy now that we have such a high-ranking official under our control, to subjugate the others, and then they can all work together to bring Scrimgeour down.”

“That’s if Thicknesse doesn’t break the curse,” said James in a supposedly relieved tone, but he doubted that Thicknesse would actually do so.

“As long as our friend Thicknesse is not discovered before he has converted the rest,” said Voldemort. “At any rate, it remains unlikely that the Ministry will be mine before next Saturday. If we cannot touch the boy at his destination, then it must be done while he travels.”

“We are at an advantage there, my Lord,” said Yaxley, who seemed determined to receive some portion of approval. “We now have several people planted within the Department of Magical Transport. If Potter Apparates or uses the Floo Network, we shall know immediately.”

“He will do neither,” said Snape. “The Order is eschewing any form of transport that is controlled or regulated by the Ministry; they mistrust everything to do with the place.”

“All the better,” said Voldemort. “He will have to move in the open. Easier to take, by far.”

“Son-of-a . . .” muttered Sirius, the last word trailing off at a sharp glare from Lily.

Again, Voldemort looked up at the slowly revolving body as he went on. “I shall attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than to his triumphs.”

Remus snorted and said, “Sounds like he’s trying to cover up some failure. But still, why is he trying to kill Harry in the first place?”

The company around the table watched Voldemort apprehensively, each of them, by his or her expression, afraid that they might be blamed for Harry Potter’s continued existence. Voldemort, however, seemed to be speaking more to himself than to any of them, still addressing the unconscious body above him.

“I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best-laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be.”

The occupants of the Heir Suite at Potter Manor shivered at the thought of this future teenager, possibly James’ own nephew or son, being the target of the megalomaniac that was running amok in the wizard world.

At these words, seemingly in response to them, a sudden wail sounded, a terrible, drawn out cry of misery and pain. Many of those at the table looked downward, startled, for the sound had seemed to issue from below their feet.

“Wormtail,” said Voldemort, with no change in his quiet, thoughtful tone, and without removing his eyes from the revolving body above, “have I not spoken to you about keeping our prisoner quiet?”

James, Sirius, and Remus looked rather pale, and Lily could for the life of her figure out why they were looking such.

“Yes, m-my Lord,” gasped a small man halfway down the table, who had been sitting so low in his chair that it had appeared, at first glance, to be unoccupied. Now he scrambled from his seat and scurried from the room, leaving nothing behind him but a curious gleam of silver.

Lily frowned heavily as Remus gulped, and began to hyperventilate. With this information, she began to piece together the clues strewn over the years. “So it’s true, what Snape told me,” she said. “You’re a werewolf, Remus. How long has it been?”

“Since I was very young, Lily,” said Remus.

“Why don’t Potter and Black react to . . . oh, I see. You’ve already told them, haven’t you?”

Remus nodded, and said, “Lily, please do not turn them in for what I’m about to reveal. They found out soon after our first year, and began studying something that I did not know of until they showed me. James and Sirius, along with Peter, became Animagi to accompany me on my transformations, since humans are the only ones a werewolf is a danger to.”

Sirius added, “James is a stag, nicknamed Prongs, I’m a grim-like dog called Padfoot, and Peter, well, he’s a rat Animagi with the name Wormtail.”

Lily’s eyes widened as she realized what had occurred in the book. It was obvious the Marauders had been betrayed by one of their own soon enough.

Remus cleared his throat, and said, “Er, shall we continue?” They all nodded, trying to assimilate the information that had been given.

“As I was saying,” continued Voldemort, looking again at the tense faces of his followers, “I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter.”

“He what? Why can’t his wand do the job?” asked Sirius, nonplussed.

The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms.

“No volunteers?” said Voldemort. “Let’s see . . . Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore.”

Sirius burst out laughing, imagining the look on the face of Narcissa’s husband.

Lucius Malfoy looked up. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

“My Lord?”

“Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand.”

“I . . .”

Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale as he was, her long blonde hair hanging down her back, but beneath the table her slim fingers closed briefly on his wrist. At her touch, Malfoy put his hadn into his robes, withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort, who held it up in front of his red eyes, examining it closely.

“What is it?”

“Elm, my Lord,” whispered Malfoy.

“And the core?”

“Dragon – dragon heartstring.”

“Good,” said Voldemort. He drew out his own wand and compared lengths. Lucius Malfoy made an involuntary movement; for a fraction of a second, it seemed he expected to receive Voldemort’s wand in exchange for his own. The gesture was not missed by Voldemort, whose eyes widened maliciously.

“Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, the three Marauders could not help but snicker at Malfoy’s predicament.

Some of the throng sniggered.

“I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late . . . What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?”

“Nothing – nothing, my Lord!”

“Such lies, Lucius . . .”

The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving. One or two of the wizards barely repressed a shudder as the hissing grew louder; something heavy could be heard sliding across the floor beneath the table.

Lily said, “Isn’t Voldemort a Parselmouth?” The others nodded, looking apprehensively at the book in Remus’ hands.

The huge snake emerged to climb slowly up Voldemort’s chair. It rose, seemingly endlessly, and came to rest across Voldemort’s shoulders: it’s neck the thickness of a man’s thigh; it’s eyes, with their vertical slits for pupils, unblinking. Voldemort stroked the creature absently with long thin fingers, still looking at Lucius Malfoy.

“Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?”

“What does he mean, his ‘return’?” asked Sirius, frowning. “Did he stop attacking for a period of time, or what?”

“Of course, my Lord,” said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. “We did desire it – we do.”

To Malfoy’s left, his wife made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from Voldemort and the snake. To his right, his son, Draco, who had been gazing at the inert body overhead, glanced quickly at Voldemort and away again, terrified to make eye contact.

“Spineless git,” muttered James, grinning slightly. Sirius was also grinning, while the two bookworms shook their heads.

“My Lord,” said a dark woman halfway down the table, her voice constricted with emotion, “it is an honor to have you here in our family’s house. There can be no higher pleasure.”

Sirius growled at the description of the woman, causing Lily to look at him, slightly startled.

She sat beside her sister, as unlike her in looks, with her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, as she was in bearing and demeanor; where Narcissa sat rigid and impassive, Bellatrix leaned toward Voldemort, for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness.

Sirius looked rather green, and said, “Oh, that is just wrong! I did not want that image in my head!”

Lily said, “What do you mean? Why is Sirius acting like this?” She saw the Marauders grin at her, and realized she had called Sirius by his first name. Shrugging, she said, “It was bound to happen, eh?”

They nodded, and James said, “I guess you don’t really know this, but Sirius and his cousin Andromeda are the only Light wizards in the Black family right now, except perhaps for his uncle, Alphard. Andromeda’s sisters are Narcissa and Bellatrix, the two women we just heard about in the book. There’s definite evidence that they’ve taken the mark of the Death Eaters already.” Lily nodded, finally realizing the rash dislike, and, at times, down-right hatred Sirius Black held for Slytherin House, which was where his younger brother, Regulus, was Sorted.

“No higher pleasure,” repeated Voldemort his head tilted a little to one side as he considered Bellatrix. “That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you.”

Her face flooded with color; her eyes welled with tears of delight.

“My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!”

“No higher pleasure . . . even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?”

She stared at him, her lips parted, evidently confused.

“I don’t know what you mean, my Lord.”

“I’m talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud.”

James and Sirius looked at one another, looked at an embarrassed-looking Remus, and burst out laughing before Sirius realized what this meant. “Moony, we’re family!” Sirius shouted with great hysteria.

Lily said, “You two keep down the theatrics! I, for one, want to finish this chapter before lunch!”

Sirius and James mock-saluted, going on about “Her Headship”, until she gave them a glare so worthy of Minerva McGonagall that they withered. Sirius and James silently agreed not to act out to extravagantly for the last few pages beyond regular comments.

There was an eruption of jeering laughter from around the table. Many leaned forward to exchange gleeful look; a few thumped the table with their fists. The great snake, disliking the disturbance, opened it’s mouth wide and hissed angrily, but the Death Eaters did not hear it, so jubilant were they at Bellatrix and the Malfoys’ humiliation. Bellatrix’s face, so recently flushed with happiness, had turned an ugly, blotchy red.

“She is no niece of ours, my Lord,” she cried over the outpouring of mirth. “We – Narcissa and I – have not seen our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries.”

“Stupid wench! Remus is not a beast, you Slytherin cow!” The occupants of the room were shocked, but none more so than the speaker herself. Lily slapped a hand to her mouth as James and Sirius exchanged gleeful looks. Lily said in a deathly whisper, “Not a word of this at school, boys, or you’ll find yourselves without a certain important piece of your anatomy.” The two boys instantly crossed their legs to cover the target, as Remus smiled in an amused fashion.

“What say you, Draco?” asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. “Will you babysit the cubs?”

The hilarity mounted; Draco Malfoy looked in terror at his father, who was staring down into his own lap, then caught his mother’s eye. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, then resumed her own deadpan star at the opposite wall.

“Enough,” said Voldemort, stroking the angry snake. “Enough.”

And the laughter died at once.

“Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time,” he said as Bellatrix gazed at him, breathless and imploring. “You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest.”

“Yes, my Lord,” whispered Bellatrix, and her eyes swam with tears of gratitude. “At the first chance!”

“You shall have it,” said Voldemort. “And in your family, so in the world . . . we shall cut away the canker that infects us until noly those of the true blood remain. . . .”

Voldemort raised Lucius Malfoy’s wand, pointed it directly at the revolving figure suspended over the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds.

“Do you recognize our guest, Severus?” asked Voldemort.

Snape raised his eyes to the upside-down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity. As she revolved to face the firelight, the woman said in a cracked and terrified voice, “Severus! Help me!”

Sirius said, “It almost sounds like this woman knew him. Do you think he was in a class of hers at Hogwarts, or something?” The others shrugged, too unsure of the situation themselves to really make a judgment call.

“Ah, yes,” said Snape as the prisoner turned slowly away again.

“And you, Draco?” asked Voldemort, stroking the snake’s snout with his wand-free hand. Draco shook his head jerkily. Now that the woman had woken, he seemed unable to look at her anymore.

“But you would not have taken her classes,” said Voldemort. “For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Lily looked horrified, and Sirius said croakily, “Professor Burbage? But she’s so nice! She doesn’t mean harm to anyone!”

“Voldemort is evil,” said James flatly, while Remus nodded vehemently.

There were small noises of comprehension around the table. A broad, hunched woman with pointed teeth cackled.

“Yes . . . Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles . . . how they are not so different from us . . .”

One of the Death Eaters spat on the floor. Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape again.

“Severus . . . please . . . please . . .”

“Silence,” said Voldemort, with another twitch of Malfoy’s wand, and Charity fell silent as if gagged. “Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defense of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance . . . She would have us all mate with Muggles . . . or, no doubt, werewolves . . .”

Nobody laughed this time: There was no mistaking the anger and contempt in Voldemort’s voice. For the third time, Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape. Tears were pouring from her eyes into her hair. Snape looked back at her, quite impassive, as she turned slowly away from him again.

“Avada Kedavra.”

Lily had begun to sob quietly into James’ shoulder when the door opened and a mass of purple robes with violet stars on them came into view, along with a silver beard and blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles.

Professor Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway, looking slightly odd as he saw Lily sobbing into James’ shoulder, and the three Marauders looking quite pale themselves.

Finally, Remus said, “Er, Headmaster, is there a reason you’re here? Not that we don’t like you, but it’s odd for the headmaster to visit students on the holidays.”

Dumbledore smiled and said, with a twinkle, “Well, I got a rather odd note this morning from a blue phoenix that told me to come here and that I would find information beneficial to the side of Light here. Perhaps you could enlighten me?”
James quickly explained the entire chapter they had just read, and that they had a little more to go before the second chapter. Dumbledore nodded and, conjuring a chair, said, “I can think of no better holiday away from Hogwarts than to spend it with some of my favorite pupils. But, of course, if you tell anyone I said that, I shall deny it.”

Sirius smirked and said, “Yes, Professor,” in his innocent tone, which meant he would hold Dumbledore to his word once school started. Dumbledore just motioned for Remus to continue.

The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the room. Charity fell, with a resounding crash, onto the table below, which trembled and creaked. Several of the Death Eaters leapt back in their chairs. Draco fell out of his onto the floor.

“Dinner, Nagini,” said Voldemort softly, and the great snake swayed and slithered from his shoulders onto the polished wood.

Dumbledore looked slightly disgusted, and the four students were looking very ill, especially since they were all very friendly with Professor Burbage, who had started just the last year and was only in her mid-twenties. Sirius had even tried to flirt with her, even though he continually landed in detention with McGonagall.

“Who would like to read next?” asked Remus, and Sirius volunteered. Taking a look at the title of chapter two, he said, “This title is In Memoriam.”