#voldy

“Are you quite sure that’s a good idea, Jamesie?”

James Potter—a dashing young man with untidy hair and a mischievous grin—turned round. His hazel eyes twinkled behind his round glasses.

“Oh, come off it, Gran. Of course it’s a good idea. The Ministry needs us, and if we show up, it’ll give the others a boost.”

Elisa Potter, née Fleamont, looked frail but kind. Her age showed in the deep lines that marked her face, yet there was a warm, grandmotherly glow about her.

“Hm… if you say so. But do be careful, dear. He could strike there.”

“I doubt he’d be daft enough to attack us in the middle of the Ministry. Besides, Professor Dumbledore and all the Order of the Phoenix will be there. Not to mention the Aurors. I’ve got great faith in Bartemius Crouch.”

He turned as a soft voice came from the stairs. Lily Potter was descending gracefully, a baby in her arms. Behind her, Peter Pettigrew followed, holding another child. The man looked terribly pale.

“Mmm. You can say that because you don’t work for him,” James quipped, nodding to his wife. “He’s an absolute tyrant!”

Lily rolled her eyes and moved to hand him the baby—but before she could, the old lady intercepted and took the infant herself.

“James! Don’t speak that way about your cousin!” Elisa scolded, before looking down at her great-grandson. “Oh, my little Harry—you’re the very image of Henry.”

James held his tongue, though he was tempted to protest. He knew how fond his grandmother was of Harry—named after her late husband, Henry Potter. Sometimes, he pitied her: she had outlived her husband, her son, and her daughter-in-law. She had nearly wasted away from grief until Harry’s birth rekindled her spirit. Her greatest joy, she said, had been the naming of her great-grandson—Harry James Potter, the eldest, bearing his father’s name.

“Not that he’s heavy or anything…” came a weary voice.

James chuckled at Peter’s exhausted look and motioned for the second baby. Unlike Harry, who had his father’s dark hair and his mother’s bright green eyes, the younger twin had inherited Lily’s fiery hair and James’s eyes. Arthur John Potter—named after Lily’s father and grandfather.

“All right, Peter?” Lily asked, concerned. “You look a bit peaky.”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” he said, waving her off. “Just overdid it at dinner, that’s all. My fault—I should’ve stopped at the second helping.”

James grinned. “You say that every time, Petey. One day your stomach’ll finish you off before the Death Eaters do.”

Peter tried to laugh, but the sound came out more like a sigh.

“I think I’ll head off,” he said finally. “Need a bit of rest.”

“As you like,” James replied. “Be careful on your way. If you run into an Auror, tell him you’ve just left our place—he’ll understand.”

Peter nodded, cast one last, uneasy glance at the twins, and Disapparated with a crack. Silence fell—heavy, uneasy.

It was Elisa who spoke first.

“That boy’s not right.”

James frowned. “Gran, honestly, not again. Peter’s clumsy, sure—but he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“That’s exactly what people say before they’re betrayed,” she said quietly. “He’s got that shifty look—like someone burdened by secrets. And that Animagus form of his…”

James sighed. “Oh, Merlin’s beard, not this again. You’re not going to start on about animals and souls, are you? Sirius is a dog, Remus is a wolf, and they’re the most loyal blokes I know.”

“Dogs and wolves live in packs, Jamesie,” she replied evenly. “Rats feed on scraps. They survive by hiding.”

Lily stepped in before the argument could go further.

“Grandmother, I understand your feeling, but you know Peter’s not made for confinement. We’ve been cooped up here for months—he’s suffocating, like the rest of us.”

Elisa had insisted Lily call her “Grandmother”—she detested titles and formality. In truth, she was one of the oldest surviving members of English wizarding nobility: the Marquess Elise Potter, née Fleamont, only daughter of the late Earl Felominus Fleamont and Lysiana Gaunt.

“Isolation doesn’t make a traitor,” the old woman said coldly.

“No,” Lily replied, “but it brings out what’s already there. And Peter’s never been comfortable with all this—the Order, the war, the secrecy. You’ve seen him—he sweats just hearing about a duel.”

James nodded, glad to have his wife’s support.

“Exactly. That’s just Peter. A bit of a coward, maybe, a bit awkward—but loyal. He’s never betrayed me.”

Elisa studied him for a long moment.

“You say that as though you need to believe it.”

“I know it,” said James firmly. “Peter’s a friend. And if there’s one thing I learnt at Hogwarts, it’s that you don’t abandon your mates just because they’re scared.”

Lily sighed softly. “You’re right, love. But so is she. Some people you protect best from afar. Maybe we shouldn’t burden him with too much—just in case.”

James shook his head with a grin.

“You two are going to drive me round the bend. We’re already hiding under a Fidelius Charm, watched over by Dumbledore himself, and you want me to start distrusting Peter? No chance.”

Elisa turned her gaze to the fire.

“Trust is a fine thing, Jamesie. But old families learnt long ago—the fire burns those who sit too close.”

“And I’ve learnt that fear loses more battles than war itself,” he said quietly.

For a moment, only the crackle of the fire filled the room, its light dancing on the faces in the portraits.

“This ball at the Ministry unsettles me,” Elisa said at last. “Samhain is no night to parade about.”

“It’s symbolic, Gran,” James replied. “The Ministry wants to prove fear doesn’t rule us anymore. And with Dumbledore and a squad of Aurors there, what could possibly go wrong?”

Lily laid a hand on his arm.

“That’s not what she means. It’s a strange night, James. Even if nothing happens, I don’t like the idea of leaving the children.”

He smiled, reassuring. “They’ll be fine. Gran’s here—no one protects better than you, eh, Gran?”

Elisa didn’t answer at once. She tucked the blanket around the twins, her gaze distant.

“I’ll keep them safe,” she said finally. “That’s all you need to know.”

James kissed Lily, then the children, and reached for his cloak.

“We won’t be long,” he promised.

Elisa nodded silently. As they Disapparated, she stood there for a while, listening to the fire crackle and the soft breathing of the two sleeping infants. Absentmindedly, she reached into her robe and drew out a small object she had carried since girlhood.

Her father, Felominus Fleamont, had been a great wizard—fascinated by the obscure and the arcane. His particular field was chronomantic divination, a rare branch of magic devoted to reading a person’s fate through the flow of time. He had crafted her a small hourglass at her birth—one that had never stopped running.

Until tonight.

Elisa looked at the two babies, sleeping peacefully, and smiled faintly as the family cat curled up between them. Then, softly, she began to hum an old lullaby—one she had once sung for her own son, Fleamont.

“Sleep, my loves, and peace attend thee, All through the night.”

She settled into the rocking chair—one her grandson had brought especially for her weary bones—and the gentle creak filled the quiet room.

“Guardian angels God will send thee, All through the night.”

The chair rocked slowly back and forth as her voice, fragile but steady, carried on the old lullaby.

“Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,”

Her gaze drifted towards the fire, watching the embers crackle and flare.

“I my loving vigil keeping, All through the night.”

With a tender motion, she drew her wand and laid it across her knees.

“While the moon her watch is keeping, All through the night,”

She turned her eyes to the window, where the pale light of the full moon shone through.

“While the weary world is sleeping, All through the night.”

For a few moments, her breath grew shallow.

“O’er thy spirit gently stealing, Visions of delight revealing,”

Her eyes returned to the two sleeping infants, nestled close together.

“Breathes a pure and holy feeling, All through the night.”

She smiled faintly. Deep down, Elisa knew she would not live to see the dawn.