Hey ho! Well, i am deeply shamed. SIX WHOLE MONTHS it has been since i've updated. Not cool. But at least this chappie has been brewing in my head for the last six months so you know it's good! i'm really sorry to everyone (if i still have any of my original readers left!) and will try to update on a more regualr basis! This chappie is long, but it's getting exciting if i do say so myself! So strap yourselves in! (how cliched)

DISCLAIMER: I have just busted my butt off for 2 solid weeks in anxious prepartion for my yr 11 block exams. This is all so i can receive a great op then receive a great job as a direct result of that op. But if i owned hp tm, that woulnot be necessary. I could have just sat there for the 100 and 30 minuet duration of my english block and twiddled my thumbs instead of trying in vasin to figure out how texual features constructed the invited reading of the chosen text. i feel sick even typing it. Alsa, i do not own hp tm. Therefore, more studying is a likely foresight.

ENJOY!

The marble countertops gleamed.

Stainless steel appliances shone.

Carpets stretched blank and unblemished.

A clock's rhythmic ticking echoed as a pale tempo for the spick and span kitchen and loungeroom.

And there they were, huddled together.

Shaking.

Blood covered in the midst of that sterialised environment.

She clung to Harry with the grip of a drowning man, the hands knotted around his neck slippery with blood from the shards of glass from the front window. Every shard had been blown away from the window's frame, leaving it a gaping, massive hole before them through which the calm scent of night-time suburbia drifted, in a severe contrast to the wreckage: wreckage amongst the prim neatness.

Lily suddenly felt Harry's shoulder muscles tense. A sound; shifting, rustling panic- upstairs. She found herself being dragged by him, towards the kitchen, hissed in here, ripping open the door of the under sink cabinet. Lily hurled herself in blindly, beyond caring if they were found. What if she's dead? The blazing words imprinted themselves upon her vision, swimming as her head pounded. Harry snapped the cabinet door shut again. Cramped together, knees in each others' faces. Air reeking of detergent seared their throats. Lily could hear thunderous footsteps descending the stairs.

"What on earth!" a man bellowed.

The crunches of glass being walked upon.

Stunned silence.

A blank buzzing droning in Lily's brain.

What if she's dead?

Though she could not see him from the pitch dark of the tiny cabinet, Lily could almost sense the man's absolute horror: waking to find his living room blown apart. "Was he Petunia's husband?" she breathed to Harry.

"Yes. But we're not leaving until he realises she's gone. The Muggle police won't be able to do anything about it, but at least we'll have someone doing something."

"Well, fat lot of help that'll be! Just get the police more tied up and waste their time." She could not understand his reasoning, but let it go. He was in charge. He was Harry. No questions asked.

"Why do you think that…demon took her? Was it a revenge thing, or-"

"Revenge? No." A pause in conversation, like a gap in thought. "She's bait, that's all."

Bait. That's all. "No. She's his wife and my sister!" Lilly whispered fiercely. As if her words had squeezed out from the cabinet and wound their way to Petunia's husband's ear, he immediately started calling her.

"Petunia! Petunia, oh god."

A cold crept up Lily's flesh. The man was calling her name so loudly. Eventually he petered out, voice rasping and cracking. Lily was glad she could not see his face.

"He knows." whispered Harry. "Let's go."

Hands thrust deep in his pockets, James pounded through the bustle with an ominous tread, though imparted smiles and nods at those who caught his eye. Who nodded back jerkily and shifted the load they were carrying uncomfortably. Nobody questioned him. Why should they have? They thought he was Lord Harry The Liar. Although perhaps a nice void of contact would have been be a fortunate occurrence as James Potter was in a blustering maelstrom of a bad mood, and idle questioning when one is in this mindset is of course a horrific and fatal mistake.

He passed Don and Granger. Neither were perceptive of his temper as they appeared to be holding hands and smiling mushily. He cast them a magnificent glower and thundered past, all the way up to The Plotting Room's corridor. He paused, a niggle of fear causing him to light his wand apprehensively. He did not want to take any chances lest that creepy presence still be wafting around. Once enclosed inside the Plotting Room, James sunk into a dilapidated armchair and stared at a strip of moonlight thrown from the window across the timber floors and thought about death.

"I'm dead," he says aloud. But the words drop apathetically from his mouth and lay there idly, playing dead themselves. They do nothing. Because they are not true. "I can't be dead." James states more loudly, liking the effect the empty room gave to his voice. "Zeichman was lying, because…because he's got it in for me. Harry's probably really docile, flopping right at his feet like a stupid pet. And I've stood up for myself and Zeichy doesn't like it." This turn of events nestled snugly in his conscience, the weight shifted onto someone else. "Or, Harry has been lying to me" James fell silent, his mind's chatter simmering down in the solitude and darkness.

"Ahoy, Prongs. My, isn't this a tad anti-social?" Sirius suddenly paraded into the room, bringing candles, Don and Granger, noise and activity. James balled himself up on the chair stubbornly, scowling. Bad moods were not a transient states with him: they sunk their claws in and poisoned his actions and words for hours. "Look, I know what he said to you." said Sirius bluntly. "I...er…sort of followed you. Got sick of Moony. His tallness has gone to his head. But, yeah. Not pleasant, mate."

"Wait until Harry's back. He'll explain it." said Granger, her expression compassionate like she had just gone through the same experience last week.

"So it's true." mumbled James.

Granger's gaze fell from his.

"So, where is Harry? Oh, and Evans? Busy making us dinner, I hope. " Sirius grumbled, rubbing his stomach theatrically.

"I really don't know where they are, sorry." replied Granger. "They will be back soon though. It's almost daybreak and that's when we set out."

James avoided asking what "set out" entailed. How come everyone is a hero around here?

"So, answer me this: what is so great about this Harry kid anyway?" he burst out angrily, his hands shredding the leaking foam of the armchair with venom.

"He's a pretty amazing person." admitted Don gruffly. "Saved my sister's life."

"Beat off Dementors."

"Saved Sirius' life." (-"No, he didn't!" Sirius shot back immediately-)

"Witnessed You-Know-Who coming back, and survived that."

"Fought You-Know-Who and survived!"

"Fought other things along the way, and survived." (-"So, all he really does is survive, James thought

"He's done incredible things and-"

"And! He's my son." James cut in brusquely.

Granger shot him a look he was fast coming to regard as her trademark.

"So you think all his brilliance stems off you? You know what James? You and Harry are very different. Looks are skin deep."

James leapt out of his chair and into the middle of the room, assuming power play. " So, Harry is this wonderful, bad-guy-smiting, here's-another-Order-of-Merlin-for-your-collection, sacrificing-kinda guy?" he spoke in even tones that were at unnerving odds with his menacing stance. "And you're all asking yourselves how did he come from him? Is that right?"

James' heavy breathing. Don fiddling nervously with his hands. Granger spoke.

"Yes." Brown eyes slits of dislike. "Yes it is."

"We aren't going to say anything? Even if it could save her life?" Lily's cheeks flamed at her obsolete frustration, despite the nip of the cold that precedes and announces dawn. Thin, deep cuts curved across her cheeks and forearms. She picked at a series of them, running parallel and crisscrossing her forehand. But she was far removed from her physical state: her thoughts were trailing and weaving after her sister.

"We can't." answered Harry in a dead voice. "Uncle Vernon would blame me, and the last thing I need right now is to be locked in a Muggle police station, being charged for wilful damage of the Durselys' front window! And possibly Aunt Petunia's disappearance, if they have enough time."

She ran her fingers along the raw threads of torn flesh, trailed their decent nearly to her elbow. "Didn't he care about her?"

"No, he did…but, her family is...well, the Petunia I know is probably very different from the one you knew."

"Oh yeah? How?"

"More materialistic."

"No. Same Petunia. Is she a good aunt to you?"

Harry responded gruffly. "Good enough. Well, anyway, what good is there to be done even if we told them? 'Oh yeah, a bloody great reaper stole your wife! Nothing personal, mate. Sure she'll be back soon.' "

Lily realised he was masking his worry with sarcasm. She smiled. A personal trait she was well accustomed to. He picked up a stick; doodled absently in the grit in the broken gutter they were sitting on. Behind them Grimauld Place reared up starkly, a black cardboard cut-out against a sky of dusty indigo.

It was that mysterious 15 minuets before the sun's rosy hues dye the east. When there is only that blue: a dusky, lonely, somber blue streaked with wispy clouds and everything is still. Dark. Silent. A sleepiness and quiet pervades the world and it is hard to believe that it will ever bustle and hurry. In these 15 minuets you feel like the only person alive, dwarfed by a silent great entity of stillness. That was indeed how Lily felt. She felt the only problem that had ever arisen in the universe was the kidnapping of Petunia, and that no-one could help.

It was not that she particularly liked her sister. She loved her only by name: any sisterly sutures of emotion had been viciously ripped apart by hatred and jealousy on her sister's behalf. Hatred at Lily's looks, her intellect, her body, and even her eyes. But to imagine Petunia in pain, tortured, or even dead. Lily remembered the Petunia that actually spoke to her, laughed with her joked, gossiped, accepted her. Loved her. That was the Petunia she loved. That was the Petunia she was terrified for.

"What was that thing that took her?" Her voice broke the early morning air pregnant with moisture and secrets. He was so reserved. Another similar trait. She watched the black cut-out of Harry run a hand through his untidy hair, move restlessly, shifting his shoulders as though renegotiating a burden.

"A reaper. One of Icia's I suppose. She's probably even got her henchmen flitting around Grimauld Place already…" His voice seemed crushed by some emotion she could not translate: fear, determination, acceptance?

"Who's Icia-"

"C'mon. Let's get inside. The others will be forging wills and dividing our possessions by now." There it was again.

Lily smiled again.

Fear. He was scared for his aunt.

The black cut-out moved towards Grimauld Place's yawning front door. Lily fancied she could hear shuffling noises coming from the inside, like heavy loads being shifted and dragged. Looked down at the gutter. Harry had doodled a "1" in the grit. She stared at it for a second before moving towards the front door.

James promptly sat back down in the armchair, stunned at Granger's blunt portrayal of his character. All throughout James' sheltered existence, never had some one had the audacity to summate his character in comparison to someone else's, as a negative outcome would have a devastating result upon James' self-esteem, something he has always harbored in abundance and was therefore his most nursed attribute. Though, when put to the test, it failed miserably. This is what they think of me, wandered into his dazed mind. They actually think I'm not good enough as…

A tentative knock drew all the awkward gazes as Harry and Lily slipped into the room. James' gaze was on Lily: her round face glowed in the semi-darkness, nasty scratches running the length of it, eyes bright, darting. Where had he taken her?

"You liar," said James in a quiet voice. Granger and Don's welcoming voices died away warily. James rose and faced Harry. James studied the face before him. It looked like his, certainly, but here were differences. Harry looked older, James observed, a pensive face; keen green eyes that slanted as Lily's do, beneath dark arched eyebrows. James could see the beginnings of faint crease marks on his forehead though his experiences were starting to engrave themselves upon him. The keen eyes locked James', unflinching. What are you talking about, James' mind supplied the words like a printed speech bubble before Harry's mouth. But, Harry is not James.

"I'm sorry.," he said. "Sorry I lied. I really just…couldn't bear the thought of telling you both that you were…"He sighed, running frustrated hand through his hair. By the way it sat, he guessed it must be habit.

"What?" Lily's hands on their shoulders tore them apart. She gazed imploring at both of them.

"Lily, we're dead! Dead! And he lied to us!" James' hand unconsciously leapt to his hair. He felt oddly cold, being so close to Lily, smelling her frenzied breaths as she exhaled. A sensation like pins and needles crept through his flesh where her hand rested on his shoulder. Her breath caught.

"Dead?" she echoed. Face impassive, mouth curved downwards grimly. "Yeah, I guessed. Persueus wasn't really cryptic about it. I understand why you lied. I would have done the same.

"Who? Persueus? Snivellus? Where'd you meet him here?" squawked James.

Granger spoke over him. "Harry, you'd better explain it all to them."

Harry smiled wanly. James was embarrassed to see tears glinting in his eyes.

"Right then," he started in a fractured voice, settling himself unto the floor. Lily followed, then of course, so did James. The room had gone respectfully silent. "Halloween, 1981." He sighed, eyes drifting between his parent's faces sadly.

"Oh! Horror story!" came Sirius' voice form the couch.

Murder. Murder. Dark, creeping, nasty words slithered sinuously though Lily's brain. Murder. Betrayal. Suffering. Hunted. She lay there in the floor in some dusty room, in a prison of sleeping people, silence and taut itchy blankets. After Harry's retelling of their deaths, Granger had suggested in a fake cheery voice that they all catch up on some sleep. The red-haired gangling boy named Ron had his foot against her head, Sirius' arm lay across her leg, and heavy rhythmic breathing laden the bright morning air with a drowsy stillness. Having spent most of the night in a cryptic goose chase culminating in a dashing kidnap had exhausted her immensely but sleep was being fought off by those words, even as everyone else slept peacefully. Murder. Betrayal. Sacrifice.

Had she really done that for Harry? It did not seem possible. She must have really loved him…a beautiful gesture, Granger had said, nodding reverently. Lily had only felt cold. Did she really have it in her to give up her life for her son? That sort of strength and love was beyond Lily's comprehension. The only person who had ever really loved had been her mother, everyone else had betrayed her: her father, Petunia, Jeremy, the loser who had cheated on her so many times yet she still forgave him…no. She did not feel like a fearless heroine. Just a 16-year old girl who is way in over her head.

"Evans?" James' voice sliced through the heavy silence and fresh sunshine highlighting the motes of dust floating lazily in the air. "I know you're awake. "

Lily scrunched up her eyes in annoyance. The last thing on earth she felt like was James prodding and poking at her thoughts. "You'll wake everyone up! What is it , James?"

"Can you believe that all? Dead! I mean …and Peter!" here, James' words fumbled, cluttered, probably like his thoughts. "I just...he…I don't, what he did, did you ever expect that?"

Lily found she did not really care about Peter's betrayal but knew to James it would mean a lot, not for the sake of losing a friend, more the indignation at being outsmarted by someone he had always held himself superior to. "No, he always seemed so…" She did not know Peter. She did not care.

"Meek?" supplied James quickly. "Yeah, I thought that too. I don't like the thought of being inevitably murdered. Murdered is such a broad term. He should have narrowed it down: 'Ok, James, you'll be toyed with like a mouse, then bludgeoned and finally Avada-Kedavra-ed.' "

"That's not funny."

"I'm not trying."

"I feel it's all beyond me."

Silence.

"Yeah. I feel that way too."

Lily opened her eyes. James admitting defeat was so significantly out of character she wondered if she had plumbed down to the real James, the one behind the overwhelming ego.

"I'm sorry about your sister. What's happening about it?"

"Harry told the Order. They reackon it was to get information from her."

"Bummer. Getting her back?"

"Once they get this mysterious "Operation" thing happening today, I suppose something will happen. Has anyone told you what it's all about, anyway?" She could still hear the shifting of mysterious objects and soft murmurs from the 'operation' continuing downstairs.

"The only time I actually received information about what is going on in this place, I was assuming Harry's identity, and I am not at all keen to repeat that experience. People turn to you for answers. It's disgusting."

"He's strange isn't he? He's all calculating and determined."

"And depressed."

"Are you going to help them?"

"Yeah, I feel I have this moral obligation to. They're all so passionate, and it must be for the cause of something, so why not get a slice of that passion? I feel I have to do something substantial, like sacrifice myself."

Curious to gain his perspective, Lily flipped around on her stomach to face James. "We must be really loving parents."

"Must have been. Past tense."

"He scared me when he told us that. The sacrifice part, and the parent part."

He slid over on his side, frowning. "You don't want to be my lawfully wedded wife?"

"James, we're 16! I feel I have absolutely no scope to even begin to understand the notion of who I want to spend my life with!"

"You've ignored me since you got back. Why?"

"I've felt weird around you. Like we have an arranged marriage or something."

"And I'm not what you'd want in a husband?"

"James-"

"Ok! Lily, I get it! I'm…I'm a jerk! I'm up myself. I'm arrogant. My humor is not proper. But how many times have you rejected me? I get it. I'm not good enough for you."

She opened her mouth to reply when the door was ripped open and a voice shouted: "Potter! Sir, Ziechman requests your presence." And was snapped shut again. There were drowsy grumblings and languid stirring of limbs as Harry jumped up immediately to his feet as though he had never been asleep at all, and marched out and down the hall.

"Ok. That's it. I'm' getting involved. I'm just as good as Harry." James leaped up as well and picked his way to the door between the sleeping bodies.

"Wait!" Lily called out, grumbled, then reluctantly followed.

They hid on a stair landing that positioned them conveniently above all the action. Harry strode into the midst of the bustling with a definite air of importance and a cold confidence she had never seen surface in James' myriad of confident character as of yet. Zeichman was surrounded by a cluster of determined looking witches and wizards before the front door, which was now obstructed by an array of queer looking instruments and ominous weapons. She noticed a number of familiar faces: Remus, an older yet unmistakable Kingsley Shaklebolt and that kindly motherly woman with red hair clutching the arm of her husband and looking painfully expectant. A few young men who could only have been her sons surrounded her: flaming red hair and hardened expressions.

Lily noted a curious spangled band upon each of the members' arms: "HS". Was it some display of their ideologies? It was only then that Lily realised the extent of what they were getting into: a war. Weapons and grim faces…

Harry threaded his way through the throng until he was beside Zeichman. Whispered in his ear. Zeichman faced him, folded his arms imperiously. "Ok, people. The signal will be going off shortly. I want fast reaction ties. Any dawdlers will be left behind. We will station ourselves outside the fortress, and, with the help of the local villagers and hopefully Ministry backing, we will gain entry before tomorrow night. Everything clear?" Faces set, resilient, envisaging solid victory. But victory of what? "Ok, any odd jobs are to be completed in the next 10 minutes, got it? Now go, Mr. Potter and I have some secret affairs to discuss". Murmuring in a tough, defiant manner, the small crowd dispersed. Lily grabbed James' hand and crept further along the stair landing as to position themselves better to hear the conversation.

"Secret business, eh?"

"Just listen to me Potter. We have Ministry backing. Happy?"

"Not really."

Well, you should be. This means we can't fail. Icia's men are tough, but we can overcome them, and You-Know-Who's people are easily licked. But I need you to make a promise, Potter."

"Which is?"

"No heroics. I hear you have a fondness for them and frankly we can't afford to be heroic on this mission. This is make or break time Potter. So no wandering off on your own, no acts of retribution to old pals of yours or your parents, no trying to get your name into the Daily Prophet. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry surveyed him sharply for a moment then spoke in clipped tones: "I know full well that the only reason the Ministry is backing is because of me. If we hadn't collaborated, they would simply view your Heighland Star as a rebellious militia intent on garnering glory and becoming the heroes of the Second War. So, I'll keep my promise of no heroics only if you can keep yours."

Hands extended, shaking on it viciously.

Then, Lily felt an ungodly intense heat, a fire ripping through the air. Scalding light blinded her. She saw the searing fireball tearing into the house, felt its incinerating fury lick at her body, her skin blistering. Terrible screams, an acrid smell of smoke engulfing her, wrapping around her, smothering her. Debris hurtling everywhere. Confused pandemonium of blundering bodies, lit by the manic glare of the fire. She was breathing smoke. They were screaming so loudly. James yelling, pulling her close against him. Crashing to the floor. Panicked lungs spluttering on smoke. Then, everything suddenly became silent. James' dead weight pinning her. Each breath made her dizzy as heavy dark smoke clogged up her brain. Darkness clouded her vision. Standing above her, she saw the blurry outline of a cruel face, ice white, long haired, glittering clothes untouched by the billowing smoke. It smiled, teeth gleaming through the smoke. Lily gave up. Her vision clouded black as the ground opened beneath her and she slid into darkness.

BAHAHAHAHAHA! MWAHAHAHA! BHAVAVAVAVA! (and all other different arrays of evil laughs) see you next time filthy monkeys! xoxoxoxox

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