HELLO! Happy Thursday!

This is essentially the part II to the previous chapter. Right, now I'm off on my writing (posting) hiatus for the rest of the month. I feel like there are quite a few things I could say about this chapter. Regardless, I only have two things to say, I truly hope you all enjoy it, and, everyone deserves a second chance.

Please, please, please leave a review.

My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.


"Wait! Take me with you!"

Dorea froze. She knew that voice. The witch mustered up all the calm she could, and with a sweet smile turned on her heel to address its owner; Peter Pettigrew.

"Take you where, Peter?" Dorea asked, syrup dripping from her words.

Mousey brown hair, short stature, slightly chubby but nowhere near as round as he'd once been, red cheeks, dark brown eyes, and freckles speckled across his nose. The young wizard's his bottom lip quivered as he stood tall and faced them. At least there was that.

"You're going after them...right?" Peter asked.

"Maybe."

Hope bloomed on his face, and eagerly he pleaded, "please, take me with you. Please, I'm begging."

"Begging is unseemly," Dorea said bluntly, her smile dropping from her face.

Peter however, was not to be deterred. The boy set his jaw "you need to take me with you. I chickened out during the ritual...and if I didn't I'd be with them...I've never regretted anything more in my life."

Regulus snorted, "you haven't lived that long, Pettigrew."

Dorea stifled the amused snort that had almost escaped her. Yes, she truly did like Regulus Black.

"Boy, I do not need to do anything," Dorea said, sounding almost bored. No, Peter Pettigrew did not have gumption, and he certainly wasn't brave...but there was something about him that gave her pause. Normally she would have walked away by now, and not have spared the lad a second thought, but something kept her in place. For whatever reason, she wished to hear him out.

Peter folded his arms over his chest, his face looked soggy, and his eyes were damp—she would not be surprised if a river began to flow freely down his cheeks any second now. "I want—need to fix this, I want to save them."

Dorea opened her mouth, a response at the ready, but she held her tongue when out of the corner of her eye, she saw Charlus step forward.

There was a dark expression on his normally jovial face. Dorea imagined it was the same expression he used on those he was interrogating at work, well she could only imagine, he never discussed his work with her (he couldn't, he was an Unspeakable).

"Okay, Peter. Give me one good reason why we should trust that you won't 'chicken' out again. When, for example, things get tough or dire? We have no idea what kind of dimension we are walking into, it could be war torn, grim, a barren wasteland. They could be already be dead, or captured, or worse, for all we know."

Peter sniffed, flinching with every word, but, he held his ground, and the determination in his eyes didn't waver—his gaze was wobbling with trepidation and fear, but there was a firm resolve that gave them all pause. "Because, I'm a Marauder."


"Are you positive you don't wish to come?" Dorea asked for the umpeenth time. The House Elf standing before Dorea placed her hands on her hips, wide eyes narrowed slightly.

"No, Mistress. That all sounds like too much excitement for Mipsy. Confusion, stress. Mipsy shall stay here and take care of the Manor," Mispy said, shaking her head adamantly, her pink bonnet shifting about jerkily as she did.

They'd spent the last few hours readying themselves, packing up photo albums, important family heirlooms, and sentimental items they couldn't bear to part with—putting them all in her favourite black purse (it already had a undetectable extension charm on it). The bag was modest, but elegant with shimmering silver patterns that wove and spread across it.

When Kreacher arrived a few moments ago, Dorea had overheard Regulus telling the House Elf that they were all going on a bit of an adventure. The male House Elf had been glaring at Mipsy since his arrival, whilst she had been outright ignoring his presence—apparently, the two House Elves had some bad blood between them.

"We may not come back. You won't need to take care of the Manor, Mipsy," Dorea said kindly, kneeling on the ground, taking ahold of the House Elf's hands—her thin fingers were engulfed by Dorea's much larger hands. Mipsy's skin was much softer than one would originally think.

"Mipsy knows."

Tears pricked at the corners of Dorea's eyes, but she drove them away, she would not let Mispy's last memory of her be a sad one. "If we aren't back in a year, then you must promise me to go and serve the Weasleys."

Mipsy opened her mouth to protest, but Dorea steamrolled onwards, "Molly Weasley née Prewett has Black blood in her. Promise me, Mipsy." Molly is the only one Dorea trusts implicitly, in spite of the fact that she does not know the witch that well. From what she's heard, the witch has a good heart, and with three children she could use all the help she could get. Mipsy adores children.

Mipsy huffed in resignation. "Only if Mistress is not back in a year, and if Mistress comes back, then Mipsy returns as well."

"Deal," Dorea beamed. Then, Mipsy did something very unexpected, she flew into Dorea's arms, her slim, tiny body wrapped around her Mistress.

Dorea hesitated for a brief moment before hugging the House Elf back. Mipsy had been with her since she'd first married Charlus, a reluctant gift from her Mother. Mipsy had been so young then, and in a way, they'd grown up together.

"I know Mistress will find the young master," Mipsy murmured, and Dorea closed her eyes tightly, if only to keep the tears hostage. Dorea nodded.

Shortly thereafter, Dorea, Charlus, Regulus, and Peter were standing in a close circle out in the front yard. Kreacher was situated on Regulus's back—his arms were wrapped around the wizard's neck, and his feet were propped on his Master's hips.

Each of them sliced open their palms with magic (including Kreacher) and let the blood drip into the middle of their circle, staining the pure white snow beneath their feet.

Dorea gazed up at Potter Manor. Her Home. Memories flew through her mind, from the time she'd first moved in, to when James was a happily gurgling babe, to a rambunctious toddler, to an even more rambunctious child, and finally, last summer. There was so much history here. Dorea's eyes finally landed on Mipsy, who was watching on from the Front Porch, and she sent a loving smile the House Elf's way. The only regret she had about any of this, was leaving Mipsy behind. She would miss her dreadfully.

Then, without further ado, the wix joined hands, and Kreacher secured his hold on Regulus. Loudly and clear as day Dorea began to chant, "I envoke eaque percurret spatium temporis quo ego et opus."

Mipsy watched on from the Front Porch, clutching her hands to her chest as they all began to glow. The white light around them grew until it was unbearable and blinding. This time, Peter did not chicken out.

Mipsy had to close her eyes, the light was too great. Spots danced in front of her as she pried her eyes open once more. They'd vanished.

Mipsy sniffed, a sad smile on her lips. She knew, deep down, that she would never see her Mistress or Master ever again.

The frigid winter air nipped at her nose, and her wide eyes began to water from the cold, or at least that's what she told herself as liquid leaked from them. Mipsy gathered her thick, woollen shawl around her, and somberly, she trotted back inside.


It was the Seventh day of the month, and the argument the younger wix had been having for almost a week now had yet to be resolved. There was no clear answer or compromise in sight that would please everyone.

Harry, Hermione, Sirius, Remus, James, Lily, Ron, Draco, Pansy, Astoria, Daphne, Blaise, Theo, Ginny, Neville and Luna were all gathered in the Sun Room. It always started as a polite, rational conversation, but quickly melted into a heated discussion. Tensions were running high, they only had a few more weeks to figure out their next move. The major point of contention was that some of the Slytherins had to go back to Hogwarts come September. They didn't wish to raise any unnecessary suspicion. However, there were some who didn't agree, they thought returning to the school on a whole was unwise. Not to mention there were some who wished to go back, despite the danger, and even though they didn't need to.

"We can't just abandon it to the whims and fancies of that madman," Ginny growled. "Who knows what is going to happen to Hogwarts now that Dumbledore is gone."

"Watch me, Little Red" Blaise drawled. His comment earned him a swift hit from Pansy who was sitting right beside him on one of the couches. "My conscience is clear, I'm happy to stay as far away from that Castle as I possibly can.

"She's right," Pansy scowled, swatting him on his arm without a moment's hesitation.

"Did you have to hit me, witch?" Blaise whinged, rubbing his upper arm whilst sending Pansy a nasty glower.

"Well Astoria and Daphne can't go back, he'll want to use them against Harry and Draco," Theo said sagely, lying across Ginny's lap on the loveseat, hand thrown across his eyes.

Ginny turned an eye on him, her fingers moving to absently toy with the dark curls that fell across his forehead.

"We can't just abandon our younger housemates, we can't," Astoria snapped, jumping up from her seat, and whirling around to send Harry a venomous look—as if sensing his disapproval. The boy raised his hands in surrender, and the witch crossly folded her arms over her chest.

"Fuck me," Blaise groaned heavily. "Dammit. Fine. Pansy, and I will go back for sure. Everyone one else is pretty much out of the question."

"Me too," Ginny said firmly.

That got Theo's attention, he removed his arm from in front of his eyes. "No. You can't go back, Red. They'll definitely be coming after you," Theo said, his tone harsh, a warning heavily threaded through his words.

Ginny did not like getting told what to do. "I'm going, and it's not up for discussion," Ginny growled.

Theo shot up, hands gently grabbing Ginny's face, and he began speaking in hushed whispers that only she—and all those with heightened hearing could hear. Sirius swore he heard Theo say the word, "please." Sirius couldn't recall ever hearing the Slytherin utter the word before.

Neville sensing the tension in the room—which was as thick as sludge—volunteered, "I'll go with her."

Hermione had clearly had enough. "No," she blurted. "This is a terrible idea. We always come to the same conclusion, it's too risky." She was perched on Sirius's lap like a regal princess, her arms crossed, her bottom lip jutting out defiantly.

"It is a fucking dreadful idea, to be fair," Sirius said, "and I should know, I've had some terrible ideas in the past.

Everyone turned to Sirius in surprise, throughout all of this, he'd never voiced an opinion. Usually—much like he was now—he reclined in his favourite armchair, listened intently (but he didn't show it outwardly) and just watched the proceedings. He told himself in the beginning that his only protestations would be if Hermione, Lily, James, Remus, Harry or Ron suggested they go. Well. His gut had been twisting this entire time at the thought of anyone in this room going back to Hogwarts, with the current state of affairs and all.

"What would you suggest we do then, Black?" Daphne asked lowly, deep blue eyes a raging ocean. "Sit back and let out fellow Housemates suffer, let them go through all of this alone. Whilst we sit here, protecting ourselves, who will protect them?

"I don't—"

CRACK! It was the sound of someone apparating, yet far more intense, the very fabric of existence was ripped apart. The noise was so abrupt, so close, that they all became statues of ice. No one dared to even breathe.

After a few moments of stunned silence, Luna, in her airy way said, "we have guests."

"I beg your fucking pardon?" Draco asked, head whipping in Hermione's direction. "The blood wards, is it possible anyone could get in?"

"No," Hermione said quietly, withdrawing her wand from the holster she always kept around her left thigh these days.

In spite of all their differences of opinions—and the argument they'd just been in the middle of—the young wix moved like a fluid, and well oiled machine. They smoothly worked together as they all grabbed their wands, formed small groups, and hastily headed for the various entry points into the house. It was an attempt to cover as much ground as possible, to protect themselves on all fronts.

Harry, Hermione, James, Sirius, Remus and Ron kept low as they hurried through the house to the Foyer, only to find the front door agape.

Black, Lupin, and Tonks were frozen in place on the front porch.

Sirius reached out and took ahold of Hermione's hand, she glanced at him worriedly. What in Circe's name was going on?

"What is it?" Hermione asked as she pushed outside, dragging Sirius with her.

Ice water shot through his veins.

"Bloody hell," Remus said beside them, his hands diving into his hair in shock. His older counterpart was as still as stone, staring unblinkingly at the figures in the front yard before them.

The witch was dusting her skirt off, and with a grunt, she shrugged her outer cloaks and furs off of her. Sirius stared in disbelief as she shook her raven hair out, and he forgot how to formulate thoughts when his eyes met hers.

A familiar wizard was holding his head, standing right beside her, and Sirius swore he heard, "anyone else got a splitting headache?" Their companions however—he couldn't quite see them properly—were all passed out, unconscious on the grass behind them.

James stepped out in front of everyone, Harry right beside him with his wand raised. In a shaky, uncertain voice, James asked, "Mum?"