QUEENS, NEW YORK

1 9 6 6

*

Ramona Jupiter sat hunched over a cluttered desk, a look of distaste on her face. She paused for a moment to re-clip her hair for what felt like the millionth time in the last hour alone. Just like her, it refused to comply, and unruly black locks promptly fell back into her face. Her head dropped to the desk, where she gently whacked it against the tabletop a few times, hoping to shake an idea loose.

"Tired, love?"

Without moving her head from the desk, she reached across the papers, smiling as her husband's fingers entwined with hers. "A bit. You?"

"I'll sleep when the case is closed or when I'm dead. Either way, not for a while." Shawn rubbed her hand with his thumb, then yawned widely. "Any word from the Order?"

"Not since yesterday," Ramona answered. Sitting up, she pushed her glasses up her nose and stretched out her arms. "Consider it a good thing that we've gone more than twenty-four hours without Moody sending mail. Must be a record or something. I hope his owl's not dead."

"Maybe we can finally have a night to ourselves. I think we deserve that."

The young couple slowly sank back into their work, mulling over reports from various fellow Aurors across the globe. While Lord Voldemort held the most power in Europe, that didn't mean all other continents were safe from his reign of terror. Intelligence believed that if the war was lost, he would move on to bigger and better things... bigger and better places, that was.

Ramona pulled her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees as her bright blue eyes skimmed one of many missing persons reports. "I still don't understand. Why's You-Know-Who killing so many random people?"

"He wants us to be afraid, that's why," Shawn replied. He ruffled his messy red curls, not tearing his gaze from the pages of notes he'd meticulously taken over the last two months. "Walking next door to find your neighbor gone, not knowing if you'll be next? It's a statement, I'll give him that. He knows how to put on a show."

"But that can't be all. He'd be killing influential wizards and witches if it was just about the illusion. All of these people - they're not that."

"You know, you may be onto something." He consulted his notes again, underlining here and there in a frenzied manner. "They're nearly all No-Majs. A few Squibs, too. Dunno what that could mean, but it's certainly something."

Ramona clipped her hair up again and stared at her husband. "Has anyone else made this connection, do you reckon? About the Muggles?"

"No, I don't think so. I'll send an owl to Moody right now," said Shawn. He winked. "Well done, my darling."

"Not so bad yourself, handsome." She stood and kissed him on the nose. "I'll go find the girls. Don't be long."

He winked. "No promises."

Ramona walked downstairs, her tread silent as always. It was a habit picked up during her training, one she couldn't abandon if she tried. She couldn't handle sudden noises, either. War had changed her, just as it changes all who endure it.

She yawned and turned the corner from the hallway to the living room, but hung by the entryway for a moment. A small smile settled on her careworn face as she watched two little redheads huddle close around the radio, snuggled under a shared blanket.

"-and two more No-Majs were found dead a Brooklyn household yesterday, bringing New York's death toll for this month alone up to-"

"That's enough of that rubbish." Ramona strode across the carpet and switched off the radio. At the sight of her daughters' fearful expressions, she added, "Pam? Clem? How about we bake something?"

The two girls trailed after their mother, each grabbing one of her hands. She swung them back and forth, happy to see their smiles and hear their uncontrollable giggling again. There wasn't anything she wouldn't do for them.

"Can we make cupcakes?" The smaller one asked excitedly, her blue eyes shining. With their auburn hair and faint freckles, the twins favored Shawn, but Pam alone inherited Ramona's eyes. "Please?"

Ramona grinned and tugged playfully on her daughter's long ponytail. "Sure thing, cherry blossom. What flavor?"

"Chocolate!

"Lemon!"

The girls stared at each other for a split second before launching into a heated debate about superior cupcake varieties. Ramona carefully separated them and folded her arms, raising an eyebrow.

"I suppose there is only one way to settle this argument," she said, her words slow for dramatic effect, but her eyes sparkled. "We'll make... both."

After an hour or so, Shawn finally stood up from his work and pushed in his chair. As always, he carefully packed up their notes and concealed them from sight, just in case someone would attempt to come snooping. Their work had the potential to change the course of the future. Not just anyone could see it.

With a yawn that lasted several seconds, he wandered down the steps and into the kitchen. The sight before him brought a tired smile to his face.

Both of the girls were covered head to foot in flour, giggling uncontrollably as Ramona sang along to The Beach Boys with a wooden spoon. She'd never been a singer, missing every note by at least a half step, but it didn't matter. Undiluted joy had overtaken the trio, and she took turns twirling them crazily around in time to the music.

This was what he fought for.

"There they are! My favorite girls!"

Pam and Clem looked up simultaneously. While they weren't identical twins, their grins were the same. They both launched themselves into his arms and he hugged them tightly, not caring that they got flour all over his clothes in the process.

"Dad, we're making chocolate and lemon cupcakes!" Clem exclaimed, pointing to the kitchen. "Mommy let us make both."

He chuckled. "Well, that is because your mother is the coolest person in the entire universe. Right, Mona?"

"Naturally." Ramona walked over to her husband and gave him a kiss, her lips smiling as she did.

Shawn wiped a bit of blue frosting off of her forehead and kissed her back. "Got a little something there."

"Thanks, honey," she replied, winking at the girls. "It's getting late. Don't you think it's about time for bed?"

"NOOOOOOOO!" They chorused, jumping up and down to cement the point. "NOOOOOOOO!"

"Tell you what." Shawn knelt to be eye-level with them. He stifled another yawn. "If you two go get cleaned up now, I'll tell you a bedtime story. A really good one."

They were gone even before he finished the sentence. Shawn laughed and pulled his wife close, giving her a gentle kiss on the side of the head. For once, the home was quiet, and they just stood in each others' embrace, wishing for time to stand still. Outside the window, the dull roar of New York continued on, neverending.

"They were listening to the radio again," Ramona murmured into his chest. "The news. More Muggles dead. It'll give them nightmares."

Shawn rested his chin on her head and sighed. "It's the world they're growing up in, Mona. Just because the war hasn't reached Queens yet doesn't mean that it won't. They need to be aware."

"I don't want them to get involved," she whispered. "I want the Order to be finished before they graduate. I want the fight to end. I don't want them to fight. I don't want them to get hurt."

"Me either." He swallowed, his eyes fluttering shut. "Do you ever wish that we weren't involved?"

"No. I believe in the cause too deeply. It matters too much for me to walk away. Besides..." Ramona looked up, pushing a few red curls out of his face as a smile spread across hers. "I have the Order to thank for you."

"Very true."

Shawn smiled, recalling an incredibly boring day at the office before a pretty British girl poked her head in, asking to discuss the wizarding war in a more secure location. She'd been sent as an extension of Alastor Moody, who was attempting to make connections with aurors worldwide. Ramona Bones spent two years making excuses to visit the United States before finally giving in to her emotions and marrying the American auror who'd caught her fancy from the first day.

In the seven years since then, they worked in tandem for an intelligence division in the Magical Congress of the United States of America, or MACUSA, to hunt down confirmed Death Eaters. Their current project was one of research, searching for a correlation between Lord Voldemort's many victims. Moody believed he had a bigger purpose for these murders, and he sent additional leads as he received them, but the post was a tricky business. With an ocean between them, it was difficult to predict who might intercept their mail.

Hardly anyone knew what they were truly studying. MACUSA labeled it as a special interest project. Dumbledore considered it a personal favor. The Order of the Phoenix only knew that the couple was not to be questioned.

Somewhere in between the missions and skirmishes, newborn twin girls gave Ramona and Shawn a real reason to fight for. They raised their daughters with love and courage, hoping that they would create a world where they didn't have to be afraid of anything.

"Come on." Ramona pulled at Shawn's hand, dragging him out of memories. "You've got a story to tell, and I've got frosting to wash off of my face. Important stuff."

They walked hand-in-hand to their daughters' shared bedroom. The girls were already tucked into their twin beds, propped up on their pillows expectantly.

"Is it time for a story, Dad?" Clementine asked, bouncing up and down on her matress. "As long as Pammy doesn't spoil the ending again."

Pam blushed redder than her hair. "I can't help it, I'm sorry! It was just really good, you know?"

"You're right, sweetheart. It's not your fault. Just do your sister a favor and listen quietly tonight. Try to stay in your own mind." Ramona bent to kiss them on the foreheads. "Sweet dreams, cherry blossoms. I love you dearly."

"Night, Mom!" The girls cheered.

Ramona hesitated at the door for some unknown reason. She had an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach and just wanted to stare at her family for as long as possible. Thinking like that was foolish, though, so she smiled weakly and shut the door, muffling the sound of her husband's famous bedtime stories.

Instead of getting ready for bed, she poured a cup of tea and tiptoed into the office. Shawn had cleaned everything up, but she pulled out her wand and muttered a few incantations. The papers revealed themselves, and she sank into a desk chair, sliding her glasses back onto her nose.

Think. There was no practical use for so many corpses, so why kill innocents? She deeply believed that Voldemort had a purpose for everything he did. It was like keeping a household together on a limited budget: never waste resources, and never waste time. Her own time slowly ticked on.

Ramona lifted her steaming cup to her lips, then set it down with a loud clink of astonishment. She quickly stood up and crossed the room to a bookshelf so packed with volumes that it took a great deal of effort to extract the particular one she needed. Her breath grew shallow as she flipped through the pages, trying to find a term she vaguely remembered from Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Inferi.

She slammed the book down on the desk and traced the words with her finger. A wizard can use magic to create Inferi, an army of the dead. Unlike the Imperious curse, victims are unable to break free from influence and will do the wizard's bidding without fail.

"Shawn." When he didn't answer, she raised her voice. Her hand was shaking. "Shawn!"

He came running in a minute later, a puzzled look on his face. "Keep it down, will you? I just got them to fall asleep!"

"Shawn," Ramona whispered again, her voice trembling. "I... I figured it out. You-Know-Who. He's... h-he's creating an army of Inferi. That's his play."

Shawn stared at the words in the book for a moment before slowly meeting his wife's gaze. A greenish color turned his face. "That's revolting."

"It's barbaric, but it's him." She exhaled. "We... we did it."

"You're a genius." He wrapped his wife in a tight hug, then stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. "What do we do? They need to know as quickly as possible."

"Send an owl, we can dispatch one within minutes to Dumbledore-"

"No, this is too important. It might get intercepted, and we're dead if this falls into the wrong hands. You know that, it's not worth the risk." Shawn scratched the back of his neck, his gaze trailing to the window. "We have to go to England. Tonight."

Ramona looked up at him. Her face wasn't shocked, not exactly: she knew what he was going to say. She just didn't want him to say it.

"You're right. Someone needs to tell Dumbledore. This changes everything." She closed the book and clipped her hair again, then paused. "The girls."

"We can't take them. This is too dangerous."

"What about your parents? Can we drop them off there?"

"Out of town."

"Maybe Danielle? She's great with them. Clem loves her."

"She's still on that mission in Bulgaria."

"Right, right. I forgot about that." Ramona bit her lip and drummed her fingers on the desk. Another name flitted through her mind. "What about Phoebe?"

An uncomfortable look crossed Shawn's face. "You want to leave Clem and Pam with Phoebe?"

"Why not? Give her a little credit. She's your sister, Shawn."

"Yeah, she is. You know I love her to death, but she's still practically a kid," he replied uneasily. "I dunno if it's a good idea."

"Have any better ones? It's just an overnight. We'll be back in a few hours." When he didn't respond, Ramona began to perform the usual concealment charms over their work. "You call her. I'll get the girls up."

She left Shawn alone to mull over a decision that wasn't really a decision. He thought about Phoebe, his younger sister by twelve years. She'd only graduated from Ilvermorny a few months ago. With a slight groan, he walked towards the opposite wall and spun the rotary phone with her number.

A yawn greeted him. "Yello?" Despite the playful greeting, she sounded quite sad. It was unusual for her.

"Phoebe? It's Shawn."

"Shawn? Could you maybe, um, call back? Because I love you and all, but I... I just got dumped and all I want to do is eat ice cream and cry my eyes out to sad records."

"No, I actually need to talk to you. I'm sorry about that boyfriend, by the way." He twisted the phone cord and forced himself to keep speaking. "Listen, Ramona and I need to go to England tonight."

"England? Are you kidding me? Why on earth are you going to England in the middle of the - oh. You're being noble again, aren't you?"

Shawn nearly laughed. "Yeah. Yeah, we are. Anyway, I need you to watch the girls while we're gone." Silence stretched for so long that he wondered if their connection had been broken. "Phoebe?"

"I'm still here. It's just that I've, um, never watched them before. Like they're cute, but  I'm currently moping around my apartment in my pajamas, and I'm also really scared that they might hate me."

"They don't hate you. You're un-hateable."

"My ex thinks otherwise."

"Then he's trash," Shawn stated. Letting out a long breath, he added, "I really need you."

"Fine," she whispered. "My Floo's open."

"See you soon."

Shawn hung up, guilt plaguing his mind and heart. He didn't want to make his younger sister uncomfortable, especially since she was already hurting, but there was no other way. Some things had to be sacrificed for the greater good.

That knowledge didn't ease his conscience.

Within a few minutes, the Jupiter household was ready. The girls stood near the fireplace in their nightgowns, blearily rubbing sleep from their eyes. Ramona kept smoothing their hair down, fussing with their sleeves, doing anything other than focusing on the moment at hand. Just the sight sent spikes of anxiety through Shawn's heart. It felt like the world was ending, not being saved.

The emerald flames engulfed the family, transporting them from a suburban cottage to a cramped apartment in the heart of Queens. A young woman with flaming red hair immediately stood up from the couch, pulling her arms into the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

"Hi," she whispered before wrapping her arms around Shawn. He hugged her back, protective of his younger sister and her heart. Her eyes were bloodshot and her skin pale, stained with cried-off makeup. "It's good to see you."

"You too." He smiled weakly.

Phoebe Jupiter, barely over eighteen years old, tugged on one of her long braids and tentatively waved to her nieces. Clem waved back, but Pam held tightly to her stuffed wolf and said nothing. She hadn't left her mother's side.

Shawn knelt on the carpet and hugged his daughters. "Be good for your aunt. We'll be back in a few days to pick you up."

"We love you, cherry blossoms," whispered Ramona as she embraced them. "Be brave for us."

Just as the flames had brought them there, the flames whisked Ramona and Shawn Jupiter away. The remaining trio stared at the fireplace until the silence became deafening.

Phoebe clapped her hands together, then dropped them to her sides awkwardly. "All right. You guys tired?"

"No. Mommy and Daddy were scared. Really scared," Pam mumbled solemnly. "I don't want to sleep."

"Can we do something, Aunt Phoebe?" Clementine asked. Her dark eyes lit up. "Can we play a game? Do you like games?"

Phoebe hesitated. "It's midnight..." The look on their faces instantly changed her mind. There they were, two young girls, so desperately trying to be brave because their mother asked them to be. "We can play a game. And don't call me 'aunt.' It's Phoebe. I'm too young to be an aunt. Makes me sound like I've got a mortgage and a plan and responsibilities. No thanks."

The girls giggled, and that made her feel a bit better. She almost forgot about the boy that she'd caught kissing her best friend only hours before she answered Shawn's phone call.

"Do you know how to play poker?"

Clementine raised an eyebrow. "What's that?" Pam only stared blankly.

"Right. Of course you don't know how to play poker. I forgot you were six." Phoebe pulled on one of her braids again, momentarily embarrassed, then decided not to be. "Doesn't matter. Your mom probably wouldn't approve, but we just won't tell her. Run into the kitchen and grab a deck of No-Maj playing cards from the second drawer. Oh, and a bag of chocolates from the cabinet. We won't play for money, at least."

Clementine raced off, but Pam hung back. Phoebe thought she had the prettiest and yet saddest eyes she'd ever seen, much too knowing for her age.

"I'm sorry about that boy," she mumbled shyly. "I'm sorry he didn't love you as much as you loved him."

Before Phoebe could even formulate a response to that, Pam scurried into the kitchen after her sister. The young woman's mouth hung agape for a moment, and tears bit at the corners of her eyes. Eventually, it all came together.

She'd all but forgotten about her niece's unnerving party trick. The Jupiters kept it quiet for the most part, hoping to keep Pam from being used. A gift like hers in the wrong hands could bring about catastrophe.

Catastrophe. Her gaze wandered over to the fireplace, still flickering in the darkness. It could have been a metaphor for hope, but Phoebe never had been able to think in metaphors. She just knew the fire was dying, and the room was growing colder.

That was the last time she saw her brother.