Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I do not own.

October 31st, 1981

They were supposed to be safe. Everything was supposed to be fine. But it wasn't. It was falling apart.

Lily Potter ran up the stairs, feet slipping on the hardwood, hair falling in her face, cradling Harry in her arms like a lifeline. She heard the last words she ever wanted to hear:

"Avada Kedavra!" Green light flashed around the corner and there was a sickening thump.

"James." Her heart was in her throat; she wasn't sure how she'd gotten her husband's name past her lips. She turned, even more unsteady than before, and rushed into the nursery. She shut the door behind her, a useless attempt at protection, and searched for an escape. She knew there wasn't one.

They were going to die.

The realization, along with the fact that she would never see James again no matter what happened, hit her like a punch to the gut. She started crying, wanting to be stronger but not able to fight the misery that overwhelmed her.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Slow, steady. Like the Dark Lord had all the time in the world. She scrambled to the crib and lowered Harry into it. Harry was crying now; she didn't know how much he understood about what was going on, but he was smart enough to know something was very, very wrong.

She kneeled in front of the bars, gripping them so tightly her knuckles went white. She looked at him, memorizing every bit about him. His button nose, his unruly hair, the eyes that James said matched hers. She stared him, hearing the footsteps get closer and closer.

"Harry, listen to me." He was only a year old. She knew he wouldn't understand her hushed whisper. But she had to say it anyway. She had to. "Mommy loves you. Daddy loves you. You are loved, Harry. You are so loved."

The door was blasted off its hinges; Lily flattened herself against the side of the crib as the door hit the floor. She whirled, hands still wrapped around the bars, trying to block Harry from whatever Voldemort would throw at them.

"Please, please, have mercy!" She begged, knowing it was useless. This man, if he could even be called that, did not have a soul. He didn't care about anything, let alone her child. Her baby. She kept at anyway. "Not Harry! Not Harry! I'll do anything! Not him!"

"Step aside, foolish girl!" His wand was pointed at her; she wanted to look away but she couldn't. She stared at the wand, tears welling up. She shook her head. She wouldn't move; she couldn't. Moving meant he would kill Harry. She'd die before that happened. "MOVE!"

"NO!" She screamed back, shaking but not moving an inch from her protective position in front of Harry. She heard Harry crying and whimpering behind her. She wanted nothing more than to grab him, hold him and never let him go. But she was not going to move.

"This is your final warning-."

"NO!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green light filled the house. Only seconds later, the roof was blown out. The Fidelius Charm surrounding the house broke; the muggles could see the crumbling house. In mere hours, every witch and wizard in the world would know what had happened that night.

July 20th, 1985

Marlene McKinnon was not the type of the girl that turned into a sobbing mess when something went wrong. It was what Sirius had admired about her, her quiet strength, her intelligence, her out-standing belief that hope was the most powerful thing in the world. So she tried to remain that woman, the one that could look on the bright side of every situation.

And she was getting better. Slowly but surely. The overwhelming feeling of loneliness was ebbing away into something more like content again. She had moved back in with her parents; without Sirius or the Potter family or any of her other friends it was just easier to live with someone else while she worked and raised her daughter. Her parents welcomed her home, full of sympathy and none of the I-Told-You-So's regarding her choice in husbands that she'd expected.

She knew Sirius wouldn't betray his friends. But killing Peter and a group of innocent muggles? She couldn't wrap her head around any of it and she wasn't sure she wanted to.

The Ministry was rounding up the last of the Death Eaters, Voldemort's followers. She had a steady job as the entertainment section editor of the Daily Prophet. Happiness might not have been the word she'd used to describe her life, but it was certainly content and cozy.

She walked through the streets of Diagon Alley, heading towards the apartment above her parents' shop. She held a bag on her arm; she'd promised her daughter she'd pick up some Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans on her way home and she had made good on that promise by buying more than a few boxes. Phoebe had just turned five earlier that month; she'd call the large supply a late birthday present to go along with the many other things she and her parents had spoiled the child with.

An explosion rocked the street and sent Marlene flying. She landed with a sickening crack, blood pouring from her head as screams erupted around her and Death Eaters started dueling with the few brave wizards that went to meet them. The flames flickered on the remains of the street-side store, a desperate, last ditch effort terrorist act.

Marlene's eyes were open, glazed over with death, just another statistic in the war as people around her ran for cover.

Spells flew everywhere and shouting filled the streets. Even from inside one particular loft apartment, the chaos could be heard and people were reacting on instinct, as if the war had never really ended at all.

One second, Phoebe was playing on the floor with her toys. The next, her grandma had put her in the broom cupboard and warned her to stay there. She wondered what was going on, clutching her toy dog to her chest. Something told her this was not some sort of game but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what else it was.

She peeked through the keyhole, trying to see what was happening. Suddenly a loud bang made her drop her dog and cover her ears. Even through her hands, she could hear maniac laughter. Green light flashed and hit her grandmother. Phoebe jumped back, rubbing her eyes. When she returned to the keyhole, she saw her grandma and grandpa lying on the floor, completely still.

Phoebe was just about to turn the knob, to tell them that it wasn't funny to scare her like that, but someone else came into view. Phoebe let out a squeak of surprise and then clamped her hand over her mouth. The figure turned towards the cupboard.

She backpedaled, snatched up her stuffed dog and ducked down to hide among the coats. One of them fell over on top of her. She curled up, trying to make herself invisible. She didn't know what was happening or why, but she knew she didn't want to be found.

The door creaked open and she buried her face in her stuffed dog. The coat covered her completely and she sat stock still. The door banged shut again.

She waited, listening and crying as quietly as she could. Footsteps headed away from the cupboard. Then there was... nothing. No sound. No flashing lights. Just a crushing feeling of fear as Phoebe huddled underneath the coat and waited for something, anything, else to happen.

That was how the Aurors found her hours later, huddled in a dark closet, the last of her family.

October 7th, 1987

Dorcas Meadowes hated full moons even more than she hated her first name. It meant that her husband was suffering. She hated the feeling of uselessness that came with waiting for it all to be over. Remus had taken to chaining himself up in a cave deep in the woods whenever the full moon came around, leaving her to sit and worry whilst trying to pretend she was fine for their son's sake.

She sat in her favorite armchair by the window, blonde hair falling out of its bun, trying to focus on her book but her mind wandering elsewhere. Thomas was tucked into bed, the moon was high in the sky and there were several more hours to go until morning came.

There was a crashing sound outside.

Dorcas turned her head towards the window, peering into the shadowy yard. One of the flower pots was lying shattered on the walkway. Frowning, Dorcas stood, setting her book down in her vacated seat. Picking up her wand, she went to the door. She hesitated, wondering if she should go any further. Then she shook her head and unlatched the door. The worst thing out there was Remus and she wasn't scared of him.

She stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door behind her.

"Lumos." Her wand lit up and she looked around the yard with her new source of light. She didn't see anything, so she continued on off the porch and down to the end of the walkway where the shattered flowerpot was. She nudged a piece of it with her the toe of her flat, frowning.

A low growl erupted behind her, freezing her as her heart pounded against her rib cage. Slowly, Dorcas managed to turn around, holding her wand outstretched in front of her. It was a werewolf. She knew just by looking at it that it wasn't Remus either. It was larger than Remus; she knew because she'd seen him as a werewolf before, sneaking after the boys when they went to the Shrieking Shack. It's eyes glowed and glared at her. She saw its teeth; it looked like it was smiling at her, a cruel and vicious smile.

She couldn't get to the house. It was standing right in her path. Her hand shook, the light from her hand flickering as her focus on the simple spell wavered.

The werewolf stalked closer, his snarls ringing in her ears.

With only one option left, she turned tail and ran into the woods. Dorcas could hear it chasing her, catching up as she tried to stay out of the reach of its dangerous claws and teeth. She pointed her wand behind her.

"Stupefy!" She could tell she'd hit him from the howl of pain; she kept running, dodging roots and branches, not looking anywhere but at what was in front of her.

Humans couldn't outrun a werewolf; not forever, anyway. But what other choice did she have? Her mind reeled, trying to remember any other spell that would help her. Could she truly cast an unforgivable curse? She slowed and then turned on her heel, intent to try. There was nothing behind her.

Breathing heavily, she looked up at the sky. The moon was still full. There was no chance that the werewolf had simply turned back.

She kept alert, glancing around, trying to watch her front, sides and back at the same time. Where was it? Her thoughts went exactly where she didn't want them to go: her son. Thomas was alone in the house and she hadn't even locked the door behind her. Would a werewolf even be held back by a locked door? There was nothing a werewolf couldn't break down standing between it and her son.

Dorcas started forward; she needed to get back to the house one way or another.

A branch snapped. She paused, hoping against hope she had done it. Another snapped without her moving.

She whirled, wand raised, and claws slashed her arm and knocked her to the ground. She screamed as the werewolf bit into the flesh of her side, claws raking her legs and chest. She screamed and tried to grab her wand but she couldn't move, couldn't think, except for to scream at the top of her lungs at the pain.

Then it was off her.

She managed to turn her head and saw another werewolf snarling and fighting the bigger one. Remus. She tried to stay awake. Tried to think about anything other than the pain that engulfed her and the blood that was slowly soaking her clothes. Dorcas tried to focus on Thomas's sandy hair and goofy grin. On Remus's sweet smile and the feel of his arms around her.

The snarling grew further away, or perhaps she was just imagining it.

Slowly, she let her eyes close and felt herself fade away...