Pain is part of war. Death is an inextricable part of war. Victory, victory is optional.

-James Potter after being accepted to the Ministry as an Auror

Remus Lupin stepped onto the small porch of number twelve, Grimauld place and watched the stars. They moved above him, telling stories in a language he could not understand. A small streak of white light swept across the sky, and he remembered back fifteen years to the day that Harry had survived. The celebrations had lasted for hours, and owls had drifted in the air beneath the glowing tapestry the shooting stars had made. He had sat and mourned with Sirius, not knowing the accusations that would soon be leveled against him. As one, they had wept for the loss of their two greatest friends.

He could remember lashing out at an unsuspecting wizard who was smiling over Voldemort’s disappearance. Sirius had restrained hi from moving physically. When dawn had risen, Sirius had risen abruptly, muttering about the rat. Remus had not given it a thought, but after all these years later, he understood.

With a heavy sigh he shook his head and stepped back into the house. It was empty, even Kreacher was dead at last. Everything was hollow, and the small warmth Sirius had brought to it had vanished. It was desolate, it was harsh, it was cold, but more than anything it was Black. Sirius’ mother still shouted from the wall at times, and the hatred for his kind seeped off the walls. His rare visitors appeared suddenly and departed the same way. Most of them did little but eat sleep and leave on their next task.

Ever since Dumbledore had assigned him to guard the house, his life had been bleak. He had decided to peruse the magnificent library, but the doorbell rang. His hope soared. Someone was visiting, and it was casual, otherwise they would have apparated inside.

“Coming. Hello, how are-” He flung open the door.

Three Death Eaters were standing where he had a few minutes earlier. Cloaked, hooded, and menacing they watched his panic for a moment. He drew his wand after a half-breath of delay and raised it to duel. They laughed, and small streak of blindingly pure white light shot to his stomach. The world flashed, and then went dark.

*~~~*~~~*

“Honey, where did you put the mayonnaise? I wanted to finish your sandwich for tomorrow at work.”

“It’s in the refrigerator, just like always, Sarah.” Aaron said calmly from the couch. He was watching WWF and was ready to head to bed as he heard a piercing scream. His fiancée was standing stock still in the kitchen and staring in a panic out the window. He ran to her side, and saw what she did. A tall man with an eerie mask and long black robes was at the window.

Sarah’s hand went into the air, and pointed tremulously. “It’s him. It’s him. It’s You-Know-Who.”

Aaron was confused, but with her so scared, he stood to confront him. “Who are you? Go away. This is private property. Leave. Leave or I’ll call the cops.”

“Fool.” The man whispered before waving a small dark stick like it was a wand. Aaron flew back and crashed into the wall.

His vision swam before his eyes, but returned in time to hear Sarah say, “I’ll tell you everything. Everything I know, just please don’t hurt me.”

The man leaned over and pointed the stick to her head. “But you don’t know anything. Avada Kedarva.” In a flash of green light, Aaron saw her die, and as he sat in shock, the man moved towards him. “Ah, a muggle, how nice. Now let’s hear you scream.”

An invisible hand grabbed his arm and twisted, excruciating pain tore his mind apart. The shoulder dislocated, but the arm kept twisting. It was sick and gruesome, but he could do nothing but cry out in agonizingly long shrieks. It seemed that every second took an hour and more. But finally the pain relaxed, and left only the lingering remnants.

Even those were enough to leave him in tears. He pleaded for his life, but was greeted with carefree laughter. The hand returned and, grasping his upper arm, tightned. It cinched inward until the bones began to shatter and snap. With a final crunch he heard it separate entirely. His pain-drunk eyes saw the dripping red stump attached to his body.

“She never told you did she? What she was? Why she was greater than you? It doesn’t matter though. You die just the same.” The man lifted a small bottle from inside his cloak, and forced it into Aaron’s mouth. For a few seconds there was nothing, and there was a faint hopeful thought of an antidote. A sudden stab of pain wrenched his body. His fingers and feet were burning. The torture paused and then rushed forward. It crept up his extremities, leaving him alive by a breath. Again his eyes caught only a glimpse of what was happening.

He was burning to death, but there were no flames, no smoke, no visual. Only the charred remains and the heat that was searing off nerve endings.

Aaron felt it reach his chest, felt it reach his brain, and felt it pause as though assuring itself that he was suffering. Then it struch through, and Aaron felt his heart burn to nothing in his own chest. He fell dead, black and little better than soot, beside his wife who was unscathed.

The Death Eater laughed and disappeared.