Not long after the death of the Mckinnon family, the orders came for the Potters to leave their old home and allow the real concealment to begin.

     The place was called Godric's Hollow. It was a smaller Wizarding village, less likely for Voldemort to search, safer for Harry to be hidden. Quaint and cosy, Gwen actually could have enjoyed it, if she were not being forced into it at the prospect of Voldemort hunting her son.

"It is homey," said Sirius, shrugging off the creeping winter's chill and glancing round himself as they headed up the road. "Small, but alright. It'll be nice. Nice house. Nice town. Oh, look, they've got a little church to—"

"Sirius," snapped Gwen, "is there a reason you wanted to meet us right now?"

He glanced back at her—and was it her imagination, or did he seem nervous? Surely it was just the cold.

"No, yeah, of course," he replied, shakily, leading them up the cobblestone path toward their new home. "There is a reason, and I need you both to hear me out, alright?"

Gwen and James exchanged a grim look.

"No, it's not bad," Sirius was quick to amend, waving his hands. "I only... I know we agreed with Dumbledore that I'd... Well, don't you both think it'd be kind of... obvious for me to be your Secret-Keeper? I mean, even when Dumbledore appointed me, we said it: Obvious. If word gets out that you're hidden under a Fidelius Charm, I think the very first person Voldemort would go to for your location would be—"

"You," finished James, looking quite pale in the face. "You're right, Sirius. But who else? Remus's tucked away for the full, and he wouldn't do too well as Secret-Keeper, anyway—got a lot going on with his furry little problem, you know—"

"I was thinking Peter," said Sirius, all in one breath. "Think about it, you two; who'd suspect him, Wormtail? 'Yeah, James's best mate in the whole wide world is Sirius Black. Why don't we ask Pettigrew where they're hiding?' Nobody would think twice about him, believe me. He'd be the perfect little two-timer. They think they've got it, they track me down, demand to know where the Potters are, and I—no matter what potions nor spells they try to use on me—can honestly say I don't know."

Gwen and James each mused on this for a moment, Gwen's face inscrutable and James looking quite bewildered. It was true that all traces of tension toward the stubbiest Marauder had dissipated on the untimely arrival of Harry, and Gwen had nearly forgotten the oddity of him trying to convince Remus and Sirius that she was the spy.

Now, anyway, the entire fact slipped from her mind—just as all important things tend to do, when they're most needed.

"But why Peter?" said James, finally. "Lily's available, isn't she—"

"No," said Gwen, frowning. "Lily's on call at Mungo's all for the rest of February and March—she rang and said she wishes us a happy early birthday. Sirius is right. Having it be Peter would be ingenious... Nobody would think twice."

"Oh, glad you think so," came a relieved, squeaky voice, and Peter emerged from round the church, looking quite at ease. "I was afraid you'd say no and I'd look awkward when I came out here. Anyway, good thing you said yes. I accept. Er, I suppose—I don't really know how this sort of thing works—"

"Hold on there, Wormtail," said James, and he shifted Harry in his arms to his face was not toward Peter. "Are we sure this is a good idea? I don't see why Remus can't—"

"You said it yourself," said Peter, dismissively, "he's out for the full, and you've got to go into hiding immediately, that's what Dumbledore said—"

"Fine." Gwen crossed her arms. "You can be our Secret-Keeper, Peter."

James watched Gwen for a thoughtful moment. Then he turned back to Peter with a rigid nod. "I don't see why not, then."

If Gwen had thought the life she'd lived before was boring, she wasn't sure at all what to think of a Fidelius Charmed household.

Before, she had at least been able to see her friends. She could go into her front garden without setting off alarms. She could open her windows without an immediate Patronus from the Order demanding to know if everything was alright.

     Now, she and James only had each other for comfort.

It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the lengths the Order had gone to for her and her family. She was more grateful than words could illustrate, of course. It was only that she wished there could have been a way to keep her son safe in which they were not locked in their own house for an inscrutable amount of time.

     Time—it had begun to act funny.

     It passed slowly and in all sorts of manners, Gwen found. She never quite knew of the day, or what the hour was, how much of the night she had slept. Time seemed to be playing tricks on her, as if some god did not want her to know how long had passed since she had last seen her mates, but James did not notice childish things like such.

    He, instead of being tormented by intangible things like the absence of linearity, had grown uncomfortably irked by the lack of word from Dumbledore. Since February, they'd been tucked away, held up tight beneath the lock of Dumbledore's Fidelius Charm, and now by the end of March still with no word from their wizened old man irritated James beyond repair.

     "It's bloody ridiculous, is what it is," he said in a harsh whisper, one afternoon, whilst Harry entertained himself on his broomstick. "He sticks us in this village near a day's train from any of our friends and then leaves us high and dry, without any damn word, for weeks. I'd be happy to hear the day's weather from him, at this point!"

     "I know, James," said Gwen soothingly, hands curled around a warm mug of tea, nose pink from the cold she'd caught at the recent bitter winter. Leaned against the counter across from her husband, she lifted a shoulder and dropped it all the same, wishing she could offer him any word of relief. "I'm frustrated too, darling, but, really, if there was anything he needed to tell us, don't you think he would?"

     There came a crash from the living room, but both Gwen and James ignored it. As long as Harry was fine—which he sounded, by the likes of his giggle that followed—they did not feel the need to intervene.

     "Sure, I thought," said James forcefully, growing more agitated by the minute. He ran his hands through his hair and turned from Gwen, pacing further down their narrow kitchen, stopping at the end and facing out the window. Still, he spoke to Gwen as if she stood just across from him. "But the longer we go without word, the more worried I am that—"

     He didn't have to finish his sentence. Gwen knew the words he couldn't get out, because they had settled so plainly in the very front of her mind months ago, had taken up space and were not planning on leaving for a good while, they said.

     Her eyes found Harry, zooming round the living room, bouncing off couch cushions and laughing all the while, honestly reminding her a bit too much of a Hogwarts-era James. He even dove for the lemon Gwen had bewitched to act as an easygoing Snitch and launched himself onto the couch, rolling forward with the fruit clutched in his toddler hand, a screech of triumph escaping his lips.

     Miraculously, Gwen smiled. She could not recall a recent time she had not done so for James's expense, offered him a simper because he was trying his best to keep the mood light—which he had only recently allowed himself to let go of, when Harry wasn't around, to show how stressed he had really become. Now, though, Gwen was really smiling, beaming down at Harry, so hard her cheeks burned.

     "It will be all right," she decided that very moment, nodding resolutely.

     She saw James turn back to her, out of the corner of her eye, and watched his gaze shift from her to Harry, his lips flattening with recognition. He folded his arms and moved to his wife's side, snaking an arm round her waist, setting his chin on her shoulder. Neither of them took their eyes off their son, and it was nice.

     "Yeah," agreed James, softly, his words tickling her neck. "It will, won't it."

     It wasn't a question.

     It would be all right, if Gwen or James had to make it so.

"I... still don't understand," said Gwen, face shining with astonishment as she breathed in all the smiles bearing down on her. "I just—I don't—Merlin, you lot!"

     Lily laughed at that. Gwen ought to have expected that. Mary would have, too, in another life, probably, if Marlene had been at her side. Remus smiled politely, and Sirius was entertaining Harry in his lap, and Peter was holding a wonky pink cake in his hands.

     They were there, all of them. Remus and Sirius and Lily and Peter and Mary. It was James's birthday and they would stay through midnight to celebrate Gwen's evenly, and the cake would be cut at quarter til, so Peter couldn't eat his slice only on James's day and he had to wait to observe Gwen's, too. There was a present for each of them, but Gwen's stomach twisted at the sight, and there had been an odd sense of guilt that had washed over her because of it. They had brought her and James gifts, and she hadn't even known they were coming.

     She had cried opening the door, too, but only a little and only Remus saw.

     "We got special permission," explained Lily, as she and the rest of them had poured into the threshold, a thing Gwen never thought she'd have the pleasure of witnessing—and Merlin, it felt amazing to welcome them inside. "Moody's outside, though. And Ted."

     "This really is the best surprise," said James, now, all of them gathered comfortably in the living room. "I think Gwen was beginning to grow sick of me, so it's perfect timing, you know."

"Yeah, I was feeling the same about Moony," said Sirius without looking up from Harry. He grinned open-mouthed at the toddler and held up his hands once more, playing a sort of reverse peek-a-boo that sounded to be a great hit with Harry's audience.

"Well, James," urged Lily, and she did the thing Gwen had been dreading all night—she picked up the little pink sack and handed it to James with a glimpse toward the clock. "Since your time in the limelight's almost done with, I think you can get this over with."

"You shouldn't have, you know," he said, peering into the bag as though whatever was inside was planning on coming out without his permission.

Inside was what looked to be a spinning glass top, the sort of toy Gwen would have had Harry play with when she needed a break from watching him. James held it in his hand and eyed it with caution. That was new with the war, too, his skepticism—he could barely look at a bowl of cereal without thinking it out to get his son.

"It's a Sneakoscope," said Lily, smiling, clearly pleased with her choice. "I bought it in Hogsmeade the other day, nicked it from this rude bloke behind the counter, he tried to tell me it was banger when I told him I wouldn't pay ten galleons for it. I don't really know how a Sneakoscope could be out of order, but—"

     Suddenly and without any trace of warning, the gadget lit up, began to spin, and let out a high-pitched whistle all at once in the palm of James's hand.

     "Seems faulty to me," said Remus, grimacing as he covered his ears with his hands.

     "Yeah, who of us is gonna be doing anything untrustworthy?" demanded Sirius. "Turn that blasted thing off, James—"

     "I've no idea how to work it," admitted James, looking quite unbothered by the noise, as was Gwen. "You lot are ridiculous, you know. Harry's ten times worse than this when we're a minute late on his feeding schedule."

     As James stuffed the Sneakoscope into the couch cushions to muffle its whirling and damper its light, Sirius turned back to the infant in his lap, his scowl melting at the sight of him.

     "Bollocks," he decided, bouncing his knee with Harry atop it. "He's an angel."

     "Of course you think so," said Gwen. "He doesn't cry when you're around. Did you put a love potion on him, Sirius?"

     "I'd never," he said, affronted, a hand over his heart. "It's not my fault he can't help falling for the Black charm."

     "And Uncle Padfoot likes to sneak sweets when Mummy and Daddy aren't looking," said Remus, shooting a scornful yet amused look in Sirius's direction. "That can't hurt, can it?"

"Why don't you open your present, Gwen?" said Peter.

It was probably the first thing he said all evening. Everyone paused, whether on purpose or otherwise, and seemed to realise for the first time that he was there. He returned their awkward stares and sat in silence with them, clearly unaffected, looking as though he hadn't interrupted anything at all.

"It's not midnight yet," she pointed out, finally. "I'm still twenty."

"The younger generation," recalled James in a wistful voice, in an attempt to somewhat break the ice that had formed.

"No, he's right," said Lily, waving to Peter. "Go ahead, Gwen. It's from all of us."

Gwen eyed the gift bag. It too was a light shade of pink, tied with a deeper plush ribbon. It seemed to taunt her from the coffee table, fill her with a sense of dread and do so with complete premeditation. The sack acted as some sort of martyr, in Gwen's mind, and the guilt suppressed her only further as she reached out to pick it up. No matter what was inside, she knew it could not appease the shamefulness that had overcome her, that it would not be thoughtful enough to replace the grieving unease that it brought.

The gift was not a present but a reminder, and the tag on the wrapper only sunk further down on Gwen's pressured chest.

Inside was a book—a leather bound tale which the spine called Rapunzel, by the Brothers Grimm.

"Oh," said Gwen, managing a smile despite her inner anxiety. "Lily, you shouldn't have."

Lily smiled, her head cocking to the side slightly, eyes twinkling. "How'd you know it was me? Couldn't it have been Peter?"

"You're the only other one who knows of my secret Muggle story fascination," said Gwen, eyes drawn back to the book, her fingers dancing over the front cover. She swallowed her original taste of guilt and looked up, offering a smile to all of her friends. "I think I know this story, too. I'm excited to read it. Thank you, you lot."

They each chorused their own "It's no problem", "You're welcome", and "Of course, Gwen"s, speaking over each other in a hurry, as though trying to get the point across succinctly: That it truly was no problem, that they didn't want this gesture to weigh down on her heart, as if they could all see that's exactly what was happening inside her at the very moment.

Gwen glanced around the group, her face softening. Sirius bouncing Harry on his knee, smiling at the infant, cooing something incoherent to the rest of them but surely ridiculous in Harry's childish language; Remus, watching the same scene fondly, absently tracing his fingers down what looked to be the oldest scar on his neck; Lily, locked in a very deep conversation with James, clearly trying to delve inside him where she knew the infamous fable of Rapunzel lie; but James, grinning at her impishly, looked as though he wasn't expecting for her to get anywhere and was only playing along with her little game; Mary ripping absentmindedly at a little piece of tissue paper, her head on Remus's shoulder; and Peter, even little old Peter, smiling along with Gwen, watching Sirius and Harry—even if there was the faintest trace of caution in his eyes, still Peter seemed to finally be enjoying himself again, and the sight brought a broad grin upon Gwen's lips.

"I love you lot," she burst out, unable to stop herself. Everyone looked to her; she tightened her lips and nodded resolutely. She hadn't meant to say it, but she did mean it, so why peddle back? "I just.. wanted to say that. It's been bloody hard without you all."

Nobody said anything for a moment. Then Mary smiled.

"One month in solitary and she goes all soft. Don't tell me we're losing you, Gwen."

Sirius laughed first, which brought a giggle from Harry; which, of course, had everyone else laughing at his little baby cackle resemblant of a goblin's. Gwen laughed, too, if a bit quieter than everyone else. She inwardly made a promise to herself, and to Mary; though she didn't hear it outright, it was still because of her that the oath came to be, and it felt like she needed to hear it most.

So Gwen agreed with Mary. She would not be lost. She would continue to fight in this war, no matter how tiring or difficult it became.

Gwen would make it out on the other side if only to get another moment like this.

via speaks