Corrupted Souls | remus lupin

p-b-q

James Potter was a family man, plain as that.

His arm snaked its way around Lily's shoulders as they looked out at the expansive back lawn of the Potter Manor, the smell of meats wafting through the air. Guests were starting to arrive, and he pressed a happy kiss on his girlfriend's cheek.

"I think it's nice you still decided to host this, James," Lily leaned her body closer into his. "Merlin knows we all needed a breath of fresh air."

The past two weeks had been brutal. While no missions had been passed on to the new members of The Order, they were being trained by whoever was available. Dumbledore's schedule was annoyingly open as he sent patronus after patronus, day after day, to corral his former students to duel for what felt like hours, their bodies stretching beyond their limits as the man prepared them for what was to come.

James had a black eye. Lily walked with a limp, and Remus had new scars that were - for once - not etched into his skin on a full moon. Sirius tried to put up a strong front, but when he sat you could see him wince at some internal bruising he'd suffered at Peter's hand. Peter himself had dark circles under his eyes, not being used to such little sleep.

Marlene, Dorcas, and Alice had mainly been training with Frank. It wasn't easy by any means, but they seemed to be less muffed-up than their friends.

Neoma, however, looked absolutely battered. Her white, sleeveless blouse showed off a rather fresh-looking scar (without magic it would still be an open wound), and if one looked closely they could see cuts littering her palms and forearms. She glanced around the party nervously, as if something would pop out at her.

To her defense, her paranoia was justified. Alastor Moody had taken a special interest in the witch, and he had ... unusual teaching methods. At least three times now he had popped up when she least expected it, unleashing hell on her as she tried to pathetically defend herself in a state of panic.

Despite this Neoma found herself standing a little straighter, and she smiled as she watched Sirius Black saunter over toward her, two cups in hand. "You've seen better days, Neems. But still lookin' good."

"Charming as ever, Sirius," she grinned, accepting one of the cups and lifting it to her lips. "How's it going?"

"Peachy," the boy nodded, shifting his weight onto his right foot slightly to alleviate a throbbing pain in his left knee. "Lily's no joke. Knocked me on my arse twice yesterday. I swear she enjoyed it."

"I would have," Neoma shrugged, and Sirius let out a bark of laughter.

"Have you met The Potters yet?"

"No, not yet," Neoma murmured nervously, eyeing up Euphemia and Fleamont, whom she had just managed to slip past a minute or so prior.

"Well, you can't avoid 'em forever. C'mon!"

Neoma winced as Sirius grabbed her bad wrist and dragged her over to the heads of the Potter household. She had heard the two purebloods, who looked older than her father by at least a decade, be called every nasty name under the sun. In some dark corner of her mind she understood why - but it didn't mean she agreed with it.

The Sacred Twenty-Eight had birth records stretching back to the beginning of magic, meticulously documented and preserved. For centuries they held the weight of upholding this purity, believing that if magical blood was allowed to become too diluted then the wizarding race would die out completely. Even though there were others that claimed to have never mixed with muddied magic, they simply did not have the proof to back it up.

In the past, when a member or two of a particular family diverged from their duties, it wasn't a huge deal. Four was considered to be a low count for the number of children in a household, and so there were still plenty of young ones to carry on the family name. The 'defective' ones would simply be disowned and no one would speak of it again.